Billion Dollar Ladies
by BeggarsCan'tBeChoosers
Summary: It's the late 19th century, and Mathilde Jones, heiress, is engaged to be married to Lord Kirkland, a reclusive English aristocrat who she's never met before. Her twin brother, Alfred, disapproves. AU, contains genderbends. USUK FrUK & PruCan among others
1. Introductions

"Ya can't be serious!" Alfred F. Jones, eldest (read only) son and heir of Jones' motors inc., surged to his feet, glaring furiously at his bemused father and startled mother. "You are not marrying Mathilde off to some old guy! She don't deserve that!" He stood protectively in front of his younger twin sister, who sat silently, eyes downcast. His father sighed, glancing to his delicate blonde wife for support. She inclined her head.

"Son, I'm not sure you understand-"

"I understand perfectly! You're trying to buy the prestige of a title! Well I'm not letting it happen! Mathilde deserves better than some old, perverted duke in a decaying old mansion who's only marrying her for the money!"

"The Kirkland family name is an honourable one; it carries much weight in Windsor-"

"Like I give a damn about that!" Alfred roared, instantly regretting it when his soft-spoken little sister flinched. "Mathilde should marry for love! I don't care if you pick a wife for me, but Mathilde ain't some parcel to be bartered for and sold!" He added, close to desperate as he stared with pleading eyes at his parents.

"Alfred." His mother's single word had him silenced and seated within moments. "The late Lord Kirkland, god rest his soul, was a good friend of your father's; his son is a little... Odd, but a good, respectable man. And he doesn't live in a 'decaying old mansion'; as a matter of fact, Kirkland manor is in excellent repair, and the Kirklands don't want for money. It is a marvellous match for your sister; you should be pleased." She explained, raising an eyebrow. Alfred hung his head.

"Mathilde?" He asked, blue eyes turned hopefully to her; his last attempt to save her from what he deemed an undesirable fate. She smiled, shyly.

"Th-thank you for looking out for me, Al… but I really can look after myself, you know." She twirled a lock of blonde hair around a slender finger, looking away as she continued, blushing. "I'm sure Lord Kirkland is a lovely man… And I can't do much better than a lord, _oui?_" She looked up at him again, smiling awkwardly. "Mama is right, it's an excellent match. I'm sure I'll be very happy… And if I'm not, I give you permission to come across to rescue me, _oui?_" He stared at her, agonised, for a moment longer, then flung himself out of the chair, running out of the room without looking at any of his assembled family. His father sighed as Mathilde dismissed herself to chase after her older brother, and flopped down into the chair beside his wife.

"Well. That went well." He commented dryly. Mrs. Jones smiled, grimly.

"He'll come around, _Cherie_."

**[A/N: Hey! Welcome to chapter 1 of 'Billion Dollar Ladies'. This little… Thing… Was inspired by an article I read in the newspaper in the summer, about American heiresses who married British titled gentry… Which near-immediately made me think of America and Iggy~ **

**And I will freely confess I have a bit of a thing for fem!Canada XD**

**Anywho, I have 8 chapters of this done, but I really wanted to post it and get some feedback~ All reviews are welcomed, it's getting cold at night now, so flames are cool too~ Well, they're actually totally not, but, yanno, you get my point, right? Awesome 3**

**I CLAIM NOTHING. NOTHING AT ALL. Especially not historical knowledge. Screw dat. **

**There will be more genderbent characters and pairings later on, but feel free to request characters you wanna see paired up (if I haven't already done so ;D) or feminized~ (Or maninized, if you really want… Is that a word? D: )**

**This will be a USUK, because as a patriotic Iggitarian with many American wives… I love that pairing 3 but there will be other pairings… Mostly het though, for historical accuracy, though it near kills me to write het OTL But for my fans, I shall persevere! *salutes***

**And this is dedicated to… Cat and Penny. For now ^^ 3 And Illi, because you'd better damn well be reading, you silly bint 3**

**Looooooong AN is looooooong… Don't worry, you'll rarely see me again ^^]**


	2. Promises

"Alfred, I need you to accompany your sister to England to meet her fiancé." Alfred groaned.

"And what if I refuse?" He asked, adjusting his glasses. "Ya gonna send her on her own?"

"If that's what it comes down to, then yes." His father frowned down at him, sternly. Alfred stood, marking the page in the book he was reading with a scrap of paper.

"Then I guess I have to go… A hero doesn't abandon a damsel in distress for anything." He sulked. "But I'd better not have to make any negotiations, ya know I'm no good at things like that."

"I know full well your inefficiencies at negotiation." His father replied dryly. "Hopefully, _you_ won't even meet Lord Kirkland. You should be kept well away whilst your sister and her fiancé become acquainted."

"But what about-"

"They will have a chaperone, of course." The older man cut in before his son could even suggest that Lord Kirkland might have unsavoury intentions. "And you will accompany Mathilde whenever she isn't with her fiancé." Alfred sighed in resignation.

"Well then, I guess I'm off to England… Though if the food is terrible, I'm coming straight home; I won't have Mathilde forced to eat charcoal for every meal." His protests were growing weaker; though he still didn't want Mathilde to have to marry some stranger, and an English one no less, he was beginning to see the positives to the situation: his sister would have a huge home, a title, plenty of space, and would never want for money… (not that she would anyway, with their father's inheritance) He nodded to his father curtly as he left the room, and went upstairs to gather the things he would need to take with him. He passed Mathilde on the way, and she smiled encouragingly at him.

"This is all going to work out Al, I promise." Alfred almost retorted with a: 'That's easy for you to say', then remembered the situation was worse for her.

"Ever the optimist, eh Mattie?" He offered instead; smiling sadly. She nodded, blushing slightly.

"It really will, Al. I promise." She whispered as he turned and headed off, not hearing her. "You'll see, brother." She smiled to herself, secretively, returning to her own room to pack her own belongings. She patted her teddy's head before packing him too. "You'll see."

**[A/N: If you're reading this, I worked out how to upload more chapters! *dances happily***

**Yes, my chapters are short, they rarely exceed 500 words… But hopefully, there'll be a number of them! ^^**

**That or I'll get bored and give up… Feel free to nag me. **

**And I kinda feel I should reward MataHari-Chan for being the first reviewer… So this chapter's for you, dear! XD]**


	3. Arrival

It was raining, of course. Alfred scowled as he helped his sister down the gangplank. It'd been nearly a month since they'd left America; a relatively short time, all things considered, but none-the-less awful for Alfred, who hated being confined to one small space. Mathilde was fine with staying in the cabin, but Alfred had hurried around the decks, chattering away to all of the crew and generally getting on their nerves; they would've kicked him off at the first stop had he not been the son of such a wealthy and respectable businessman. He lifted his sister easily over a large puddle, before taking her bags for her, dissuading the servant who had come with them for that very reason. He would show Mathilde that he was her hero, that she needed her family, her brother – not some ancient English guy she'd never even met! He helped her into the waiting car after stowing her bags, along with his own, smaller one, before climbing into the car himself.

"Let's go meet this rich guy then, eh Mattie?" He grinned optimistically at his sister, who smiled back, shyly, then cuddled under his protective arm as he wrapped it around her shoulders. "I promise ya Mattie, I'm not gonna let any perverted old guy, Lord or not, to get his hands on you. He ain't even coming near ya until I've met him and decided he's safe." Mathilde giggled.

"Al~" She teased. "If you intend to shield me from every man with even the slightest unsavoury intention, I will remain unmarried until I die…" Alfred blushed slightly, before taking on a more serious expression.

"Mattie, if I could do that, I would. I almost wish we weren't siblings, 'cos then I'd marry ya and I'd be able to protect ya forever! But a big brother's gotta look after his little sister, and if that means y'are better off marrying some Lord… Well, as long as he takes care of ya, then I'm not gonna complain… Too much." It was Mathilde's turn to blush this time.

"_M-merci, _Alfred." She stuttered. "I-I'm very g-grateful that you take such good care of me, _mon frere_."

"I'll always look out for ya, Mattie! That's what big brothers are for!"

"If I had a nickel for every time you'd said that, Al, I'd have more money than papa." She teased, resting her head on his shoulder as they settled into a comfortable silence.

**[A/N: Whoot, I'm on a rooooooll~! Not a cheese roll though, cheese is icky XP**

**Damn Mathilde, why so cute? T_T Don'tcha just wanna pick her up and cuddle her? ^^**

**Finally in my beloved home country~! Some more familiar faces in the next few chapters ;)**

**Suggestions are always welcome, as are reviews, and I'm freezing, so flames will be used to warm myself up… Bloody rain…**

**Also, screw the French. Not literally, but ya get my point. I'm no good at languages, though I can choke out a little German when pressed, eh? French corrections are welcome, but probably won't be fixed as I'm laaaaaaaazy…**

**See y'all tomorrow~!]**


	4. Confusion

"Y-your bags,_ Ponas _Jones, _Panelė_ Jones." The brown-haired servant their father had hired stuttered slightly as he bowed to the two siblings, having removed said suitcases from the car and carried them into the hallway. "I h-have some errands to r-run for your father, b-but I will return sh-shortly if you n-need me." He bowed again, turning to leave and crashing into a tall blonde girl who had just emerged from a doorway, her arms heaped with laundry; which went everywhere as she fell.

"Like, watch where you're going, _chuju_!" She cursed, rolling onto her knees to collect them all.

"_A-Aš la-labai atsiprašau_!" The servant, Toris, stuttered, blushing brightly as he knelt to assist her. "I'm so very sorry, miss!"

"Like, oh my god. You're like, foreign, right?" The girl giggled once all the laundry had been collected.

"A-ah, y-yes. I'm from L-lithuania." Toris flushed even deeper, whilst the American twins looked on, bemused. "B-but I l-live and w-work in A-america…"

"That's like, totally awesome! My parents were like, from Poland, but I've like, never been." She explained, grinning brightly. "I'm Felicja, it like, means happiness, right? So like, what's your name, cutie?"

"T-toris." The brunette mumbled, still blushing. "I- I don't know wh-what it means, though…"

"That's like, totally mysterious! Like, that's totally great!" Alfred looked at his sister as the two servants continued their conversation; Toris remaining oblivious to his employers as he blushed near-constantly, the blonde chattering away, a slight accent by now noticeable under her flawless English. There was a soft chuckle from behind them, and they turned, Mathilde pushed behind her brother slightly as he prepared to defend her, if necessary. The first thing they saw was a small boy, glaring up at them with his hands on his hips; dressed in a sailor suit. Alfred goggled at the size of the kid's eyebrows. They were like… Like… Giant caterpillars! On his face!

"Hey! What're you staring at, jerk-face?"

"Peter, that's not very nice… Apologise to Mr. Jones…" A second voice came, deeper but still soft and effeminate, and Alfred noticed the person standing behind the child, hands on hips. He struggled for a moment to sex the person before him; their argument continuing even as he examined the newcomer.

"Awww, but- mum!" The kid, apparently named Peter, pouted at the pale, androgynous blonde, seemingly the one to have made the sound that first alerted them to the presence of others. Alfred frowned – the woman – for that was what she must be, surely? – was small, with short blonde hair, uncommon for women in these times, with large, blue eyes currently fixed affectionately on the boy, her son? He must take after his father, the resemblance between the two was limited at best… She was slender, her body absent of any noticeable curves, and most confusing of all, she wore a man's uniform. Scandalous.

"I've told you not to call me mum, Peter. Your brother disapproves." The woman frowned.

"Well my brother's a jerk-face!" Peter scowled, before running to yet another newcomer, a tall, intimidating blonde, as the woman, who was apparently _not_ his mother – (Alfred was very confused; he looked at Mathilde, but she seemed no better off, a small, puzzled frown marring her delicate face) turned to the siblings and shook their hands politely.

"Sorry about the welcome." She apologised, before gallantly kissing Mathilde's hand, causing the taller girl to blush. "Peter's a lovely boy really. He's just shy around strangers. Though so's Felicja, normally." She laughed, a cheerful, chiming sound that made both American twins smile too as they glanced over to where the maid in question was quizzing poor Toris about every facet of his life in America, the brunette still bright red. The taller blonde approached as they turned back to face eachother, dragging the scowling pre-teen along.

"Not a problem." Alfred grinned. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, and this is my little sister, Mathilde!" The French name rolled easily off his tongue. "And you are?"

"Oh, how rude of me! I'm Tino." The girl flushed cutely. "Peter's that adorable little thing there," She indicated the boy. "And the one holding him is my wife, Berta."

**[A/N: Goddamnit, Iggy, get out of the way of my word document. What idiot downloaded all these Shimeji things, anyway? **

**Oh. That'd be me.**

**Hetalia's not mine, though I will claim credit for genderbending the characters no-one expects :D ]**


	5. Explanations

Alfred just managed to avoid gaping. The woman… Was a man? And her- his- wife was at _least_ a foot taller than him, and scary with it. She – Berta – scowled at them from behind rectangular glasses similar to Alfred's own, blue eyes cold as ice as she easily retained a grip on the struggling Peter.

"P't'r. 'pol'gise." She demanded, her voice almost deeper than her… Husband's?

"Don't wanna!" Peter stuck his tongue out. "Make me!"

"Peter, do as Berta says or no pudding tonight!" Tino folded her- his arms, frowning sternly. "And I'll tell Vash that Lilli is not to visit for a week!" He added. Peter froze, blushing – cutely, Alfred thought with a little affection.

"W-what do I care if Lilli can't visit?" He replied off-handly. "I'll apologise, b-but only so I can have pudding!" He glared at Alfred again. "I'm sorry for calling you a jerk-face, poop-head!" He spat out, and ran off before he could be reprimanded. Tino sighed.

"I'm so sorry. He's a nice boy really."

"He's adorable." Mathilde offered. "Is he yours?"

"Oh, heavens no." Tino chuckled. "He's Lord Kirkland's little brother. Berta's his nanny, but for some reason he's called her dad, and me mum, ever since his mother died when he was very small."

"M'wife's a g'd m'th'r t'him." Berta added, her accent thick enough that Alfred could pass off what he'd just heard as a mistake. Or not.

"Berta, I've told you not to call me your wife!" Tino blushed again, scolding the tall woman. "I'm the male, you're _my_ wife!" He glanced nervously at the twins, and explained, apologetically: "I think there was a mistake in translation somewhere, Berta's Swedish and-"

"Don't worry about it!" Alfred grinned. "I get it! It's like when we were little and our Uncle Francis tried to explain what lust and sex were, when we'd been asking about getting a puppy!" He laughed, oblivious to the man watching disapprovingly from the top of the stairs. Tino chuckled, slightly nervously.

"Y-yes! But please, do come with us. Miss Jones, Berta will take you to your room, Mr. Jones, if you'd come with me?"

"I'm not gonna be too far from Mattie, am I?" The elder of the twins asked, nervously. "Only, I gotta look after her!" He added.

"Of course." Tino smiled affectionately at him. "Your room is just around the corner from Lord Kirkland's, and your sister's the same again."

"Th'r's a d'r b'tw'n y'r r'ms." Berta added, her terrifying scowl not lessening in the slightest as she lifted all of their bags easily, ignoring Tino's protests that, as the male, he should do it, and started off up the stairs.

"And one between yours and Lord Kirkland's, Mr. Jones sir, but that will, of course, be kept locked." Tino continued after the brief argument had been won by his wife, who had just disregarded his complaints by not responding to them. "And your room separates Lord Kirkland's and your sister's." He added, seeing Alfred about to ask something; his intuition had been correct as Alfred closed his mouth again with a satisfied nod. "Let's get you settled in then, shall we?" He asked brightly.

"_Oui_." Mathilde smiled, taking her brother's proffered arm as the three followed Berta up the wide stairway.

**[A/N: Ah, plot twists~ ^^ Well. I don't actually have anything to say right now. Bye.]**


	6. Collisions

"Mathiiiiiilde!" Alfred whined, allowing his forehead to fall forwards against the door to his sister's suite with a 'thunk'. "How long does it take to choose a dress?"

"I want to make a good first impression, Al!" Came the muffled reply. "Why don't you just go on ahead? You know full well you'll get lost on the way down."

"The hero never gets lost!" Alfred pouted, and then stuck his tongue out, knowing that she couldn't see him. Of course, Mathilde knew her brother well.

"Don't make that face at me!" She scolded, allowing a French lilt to accent her words – Alfred flinched and looked around for their mother, sure he was going to see her appear from the shadows.

"No fair, Mattie, you freaked me out there!" He glared at the door, petulant, as she laughed.

"I'm almost done, Al. I'll meet you down there, _oui_?" Alfred sighed – he really _should_ wait for his sister, but… He glanced downwards as his stomach let out a ravenous growl, betraying him.

"Alright Mattie!" He called, then, grinning at the thought off food… "If ya need me, just call! The hero will come running!"

"_Oui_, Alfred." Mathilde returned to frowning at the meagre collection of clothes she had brought with her – her wardrobe back home was far more expansive, but for now she would have to manage, at least until she had a chance to go shopping with Berta and Felicja later that week, as promised. Mathilde was hardly vain, by any standards, but she had been raised with some modicum of pride in her appearance. She settled on a lilac dress, to match the subtle tones in her eyes, and slid into it quickly, looking out the window absently as she brushed her long blonde curls. The smooth movement of brush through hair halted as she caught sight of something that held her interest, leaning forwards slightly to get a better look…

Alfred was, as his sister had predicted, lost. He muttered to himself, scowling, as he looked around corners, through doors and down hallways. How the hell could he get lost? How the hell was this house even so big? He couldn't be later than Mathilde, she'd know what had happened… And heroes didn't get lost! Speeding up his pace until he was practically running, he turned another corner and barrelled into a smaller body, knocking the second person over and falling on top of them. His first thought was green – the person beneath him, turning steadily pink in the face, had the most glorious green eyes. Then he realised that he was, in fact, lying on top of someone, and scrambled to his feet, holding a hand out to help the other up as he grinned apologetically.

"Sorry 'bout that!" He chirped as his victim climbed to his feet, ignoring the proffered hand and dusting himself off, glaring at the American. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, awesome American hero extraordinaire!" He beamed.

"Quite." The smaller man replied, in a clipped English accent, scowling up at the self-proclaimed hero. He was blonde and a good deal shorter than Alfred, afore-mentioned green eyes irritated beneath eyebrows even larger than Peter's had been. Alfred couldn't stop himself from staring.

**[A/N: Oh Allie, you great silly-billy 3 **

**This one's for Mary ;)**

**And I'm totally allowed to update, 'cos it's past 1am here.**

**What am I doing up? T_T]**


	7. Tea Solves Everything

"So what does the 'F' stand for?" The green-eyed man asked dryly. Alfred, distracted by the huge eyebrows, one of which had risen as he spoke, didn't reply. "Oi. American." The smaller blonde hit the other's arm. "Git! I asked what the 'F' stands for!" He repeated sharply, at Alfred's hurt look.

"Oh… Uh… Freedom." He offered, lamely. There was silence for a moment.

"Really?" The Englishman replied, wryly. "Somehow, I don't believe you. Your lovely mother has better taste than that." Alfred blushed deeply. "See? Tell the truth now, Alfred. It's most rude to lie."

"Francis." He confessed, mumbling. The other man smirked.

"After your uncle, I presume?" He chuckled. Alfred gaped in shock.

"How do you know that? Are you stalking me? How do you know Mama and Uncle Francis? Who are you anyway?" He narrowed his eyes, the questions coming quick-fire, accusatory. The smaller man raised one of those huge eyebrows again, surprised, and Alfred was once more distracted. But only momentarily; he was soon focused back on task; interrogating the Englishman. "Well? Tell me or I'll call the guards!" The other smirked, almost bemused, at his defensive behaviour.

"Call the guards? Really? Well… I'm well acquainted with dear old Uncle Francis." He looked away for a moment, almost nostalgic. "And your mother, charming creature that she is, I've known since childhood. Our parents were friends; a marriage between us was considered at one point, but my mother deemed the age-difference too great; by the time I was of a suitable age to wed, your mother would be past her prime, as it were. Ridiculous; she is clearly still as enchanting and vigorous as she was at 16, and just as beautiful." Alfred briefly wondered who the Englishman was trying to impress; hearing his mother talked about so adoringly by this stranger was just creeping him out, and she certainly wasn't nearby to overhear. "Your uncle has taken… A strange interest in me; he seems to enjoy following me around at parties; to irritate me to death, no doubt." He wrinkled his nose. "Bloody frog. At any rate, as little as I want to do with _him_, your mother is a different matter." His expression softened. "She was much like an older sister to me growing up… I adored her, looked up to her…" He shook his head suddenly. "What am I saying? And to her little boy, no less?" He looked up at Alfred, who was still slightly bewildered. "Maybe not so little…" The Englishman muttered, annoyed. He held his hand out for the other to shake. "Lord Arthur Kirkland, Mr. Jones. A pleasure." He introduced himself grandly, only the slight tone of disgust in his voice showing his dislike for the title; Alfred, unobservant as he was, didn't notice it; he was gaping again. _This_ was the man his parents planned to marry Mathilde off to?

"You're the old fogey? I mean, Lord Kirkland?" He blurted, astonished. Lord Kirkland scowled.

"Less of the old, lad; there's only four years between us. And I suppose you'd better call me Arthur, if I'm to be your… brother-in-law." He hesitated, as if the title wasn't something he'd ever thought he'd have applied to him.

"B-but… You're…" Alfred stared.

"I'm what?" Arthur snapped, scowl firmly back in place. "And close your mouth boy, unless you're planning on catching flies."

"You're cute!" Alfred blurted, then blushed, correcting himself quickly at Arthur's raised eyebrow. "I mean, I was expecting a grand old guy in a top hat and monocle and everything… You're just… You're small; you look about six…" He babbled cheerfully on, not noticing the Englishman's eye start to twitch slightly as he continued with his enthusiastic description of how Arthur was _not_ the kind of guy he'd expected to be in possession of a well-respected family name, a massive estate, and about to marry his younger sister. Finally, he snapped.

"Alright git, I get your damn point!" He roared, green eyes glaring at his intended's brother. The American blinked for a moment, then grinned widely.

"You're really not that old!" He stated, cheerfully. "I don't think I'll mind you marrying Mathilde as much now!" His face suddenly changed, a darker expression taking over; one of determination, seriousness and a hint of violence. The glint in his blue eyes, previously cheerful, now promised pain as he continued. "Of course if you ever, and I mean _ever_, do anything to hurt her, even emotionally, even the tiniest bit… I _will_ hurt you back, one-hundredfold."

"Duly noted." The Englishman responded dryly, before inclining his head in the direction of the drawing room. "Whilst we await your charming sister's presence, may I offer you a cup of tea?"

**[A/N: This was like, the first chapter I wrote. I'm so pleased to finally have it up~ ^^ **

**Ah, Allie, so over-protective~**

**Tea is the solution to all problems. I assure you of this.**

**Updates will slow now, as I'm laaaaaaazy~ I'll try for one every few days, but I promise nothing… Mwahahahahahaha!]**


	8. Sexy Albinos Solve More

Mathilde frowned to herself as she snuck out a side door of the mansion, glancing around nervously to see if she'd been followed. What was she doing out here?

"This is ridiculous, I should go back-" She murmured to herself, after catching no further glimpse of what she'd left her room to investigate. She turned to make her way back into the house, and found herself face-to-face with a tall, pale stranger. She blushed as he smirked at her.

"Well, well, well… What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here all alone?" He drawled, a harsh accent underlying his words.

"I- My name is Mathilde Jones, I- I'm here with my brother to meet my fiancé, Lord Kirkland." She looked down, shyly, her words hesitant. "I- I think I'm lost." She offered, after a moment's pause. The stranger laughed, throwing his head back as he did so – the sunlight gleamed off his near-silver blonde hair, and Mathilde caught her breath. The man was breathtakingly handsome, and she'd known from the moment she'd seen him from her bedroom window that he would put her engagement in jeopardy. Now, closer, she fisted a hand in her skirts, and smiled coyly. "P-perhaps, sir, you could help a poor little American girl find her way to the drawing room?"

"For you, anything." He winked, and offered her his arm, she took it, blushing again as she tried to slow her racing heart – she was _engaged_, for heaven's sake, she couldn't react this way! And the man before her was dressed in rough clothes, the material coarse beneath her slender fingers as she rested them on his arm – she was an American heiress, engaged to be married to an English lord, she could not be tempted by a servant of her fiancé, no matter how charming his smile.

Alfred had been talking for what felt like forever, eyes locked on the smaller man, Lord Kirkland, who sat before him, sipping at tea and… Sewing. He'd spoken about anything and everything, answering whatever questions the Englishman asked of him, all the while trying not to get distracted by the huge eyebrows as they rose and fell on the face of 'Lord Kirkland' – Arthur, as he'd asked to be called: 'If we are to be… Brothers in law…' that same hesitation on the title, that same confused look in the bright green eyes – 'You should call me Arthur, I will offer you that… Intimacy.' A light flush had spread across his face on the final word, but Alfred, oblivious as always, had missed it, distracted as he was by taking advantage of an innocent plate of biscuits. The next time he'd looked up, becoming once again fixated on those giant eyebrows, the lord's face had been stern and composed once more. And the questioning had continued; flitting from one topic to another with the ease of a hummingbird. And all the while, Arthur's hands had darted easily across the fabric, flowers and vines, leaves and animals seemingly forming themselves from the thread, the older man barely even glancing at his work as he kept his gaze fixed on Alfred, politely asking questions that he probably didn't even care for the answers to. Alfred would never confess it later, but he had almost completely forgotten that his sister was meant to be joining them, so engrossed was he in the Englishman who sat opposite him; when the door swung open and a soft voice stuttered an apology in his two favoured tongues, one after the other, he started slightly, before turning to beam at his sister, standing hesitantly in the doorway. His smile lapsed into a puzzled, and slightly suspicious, frown as he saw the man standing beside her, smirking as he folded his left hand over the delicate fingers which rested on his other arm.

"Lord Kirkland." The pale stranger drawled. "I found this pretty little thing in the garden, all alone. You should really take better care of your guests, mein Herr." He let go of Mathilde, nudging her in the direction of her brother, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of her hand with a smile that made Alfred growl slightly under his breath. No-one looked at his sister like that!

"Thank you, Gilbert." Arthur raised an eyebrow, and the albino smirked.

"Anything for you, mein Herr." He replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he inclined his head and took his leave.

"I apologise for Gilbert's actions, Miss Jones. I hope you were not too inconvenienced?" Arthur turned to his bride-to-be, who was looking at the doorway through which her new acquaintance had just exited with a small smile.

"N-no need to apologise, sir…" She whispered. "He- Gilbert- He was lovely." Alfred bit his lip as Lord Kirkland's eyebrow rose further.

"Indeed." He commented dryly, catching his fiancée's attention at last as she turned to him, blushing.

"O-oh! I'm so sorry, sir!" She curtseyed, and the Englishman's expression softened, reaching out to take her hand and kiss it, as so many had done today already.

"Lord Arthur Kirkland." He introduced, and this time, Alfred didn't miss the slight expression of revulsion that spread across his face for the briefest of heartbeats before that small smile was back in place. "Please, call me Arthur."

"M-Mathilde." She replied, blushing deeper as he led her to a chair and offered her tea, which she accepted, offering to serve it herself, as a good wife would.

"I wouldn't dream of allowing you to perform even the slightest of tasks during your stay with us, my dear." Arthur shook his head, smiling bemused, in response to the suggestion. "Please, take your seat, allow me to be mother." He smiled, seeming more comfortable with that title than his own of 'lord', or his future one of 'brother-in-law'. Mathilde sat, folding her hands in her lap, back straight, subtly observing her fiancé as he poured tea into delicate cups with smooth, practiced movements, a contented smile in place as he asked about sugar and milk. And neither did she miss the way her brother's attention was caught by some aspect of the Englishman, a small frown in place as she contemplated this. Only her first day in Britain, and already she had so much to think about…

**[A/N: Sorry about no update yesterday, I loaned my memory stick out before I realised I didn't have a back-up copy of BDL T_T Silly Beggars~ OTL**

**Aaah, this chapter is so looooooong! Feel special!**

**Also, my friend managed to find me on here. I've no idea how… I feel a bit stalked .**

**Next chapter… When I can be bothered, neh? ;) XD See y'all soon~]**


	9. Diverging Paths

"I won't be gone long, Al. Only one night…" Mathilde sighed, lowering her hairbrush to the vanity in front of her as she frowned at her brother's reflection in the mirror.

"Still…" He muttered, awkwardly. "I'd rather you let me come with you… I don't like the thought of you being in London all alone…"

"I won't be alone, Al, Felicja and Berta are coming." Mathilde sighed, lifting the brush to her hair again. "And mama says I must to look my best in order to impress my fiancé and my peers." She recited, before their eyes met in the mirror and they both laughed.

"Still… I wish you'd let me come with you, Mattie. You need big brother to protect you!" He stepped forward, wrapping him arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder, looking at their faces in the mirror, so alike that, if the slender Mathilde were to cut her hair, they could pass for brothers.

"I'll be fine." She sighed affectionately, after a moment. "Besides…" Her smile turned sly as her eyes lowered, her face tilting down so her brother could no longer see her expression. "Wouldn't it be better if you spent the time finding out more about Lord Kirkland?" She could almost sense it, the moment the link fell into place in her brother's mind.

"Of course I gotta stay behind! Finding out whether he's a perv or not is the most important thing!" He nodded, as if he'd come up with the idea himself. Mathilde giggled, lifting a hand to pat his cheek.

"_Merci_, brother. I appreciate your looking out for me." She turned and kissed his cheek, before slipping out of his embrace and moving back to her bed, where a small over-night case lay open, half-packed. "Now, Alfred, help me gather my things, _oui_?" Her brother grinned and conceded, vowing to her that he would discover every little secret the Englishman had, her laugh in response to this statement failing to deter him from his chosen path.

"I promise, Mathilde, nothing's ever gonna hurt ya if I have anything to say in the matter!"

Arthur sighed from his position behind the door, a hand pressed hard to his face as he contemplated the conversation he'd just over heard. The American planned to bare all his secrets, did he? Well, he'd have quite the task ahead of him if he planned to drag each and every skeleton from the Englishman's deep, deep closet. Arthur would not prevent him from doing so, of course, but he certainly wasn't going to make it easy for him.

He huffed, turning and continuing along his original path, heading to his own room. He'd paused, briefly, once he'd heard the twins' voices… But it made sense that the two would be together, as Mathilde was scheduled to leave later that very afternoon, spending the night and next day in London to return the following evening. A whole day and night, open to the probing of the elder twin…

Arthur groaned, allowing himself to fall onto his bed after shutting the door to his rooms. Why had he agreed to this? Why had he allowed himself to get into such a situation? Oh yes, of course, that stupid, _stupid_ promise he'd made to his father after his two older brothers and elder sister had married into other houses of nobility, in Scotland, Wales and Ireland respectively, and moved away, leaving only him and Peter, the youngest son. Arthur was never meant to inherit this house, this title, but somehow it had fallen to him, skipping over his two brothers, after their father had passed over them, citing their move to entirely different parts of the country as a sign of their unsuitability for the title. None of them minded, particularly, both sons having found wives in the only daughters of dukes, their only sister having fallen in love with the eldest son of an Irish Earl.

The three eldest Kirkland siblings were content with their new homes, families and titles, and Arthur had been left with the responsibility to wed a suitable bride and produce an heir for the Kirkland estate, Peter, at twelve, being too young. Though of course the lad had already found himself a little girlfriend in the young daughter of General Zwingli, another acquaintance of their father who had fallen in the Zulu conflict the previous year, leaving the girl in the care of her older brother, Vash, a lad only a year younger than Arthur himself, who had none-the-less become a valued friend to the young lord.

Arthur had appointed him his personal lawyer, despite his youth; though it was Vash that had discovered and reminded Arthur about the clause in his father's will – Arthur's parents had betrothed him to the young daughter of a friend of theirs when he was much younger. And now, the girl having turned 18 the previous month, it was time for him to go through with that promise… As much as Arthur hated the thought.

Oh there was nothing wrong with Mathilde, she was pretty, no doubt, sharing her mother's pale skin, blonde curls and air of delicacy, and one look at her was enough to realise her intelligence, though she was quite and demure, there was a mischievous sparkle in her eye near impossible to miss… Unless you were her brother, of course.

There was a factor Arthur hadn't counted on – he'd known of him… Alfred, yes, but he'd never thought he'd be faced with meeting the lad… Or that he'd be so damn irritating, rude and full of himself, obsessed with his hero complex, protecting his little sister, the determination in those blue, blue eyes as that cocky smile spread across that face, that adorable naivety that hadn't yet failed to make Arthur's stern demeanour soften…

And therein lay the problem. The Englishman pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, softly. He could feel a headache coming on.

**[A/N: Ha… Ha… Ha… So… This is an update. Wow. Don't expect too many of them anymore, I got forced into signing up for NaNoWriMo… Possibly the stupidest thing I've done in a while… Now… 'scuse me, I gotta go do schoolwork so I can pass my A levels .**

**Poland's name correction thanks to ****Corwenete****, because I don't speak anything other than English, a smattering of German and fluent sarcasm… So please, please, oh god please, feel free to correct my mistakes. Of which there are no doubt many.]**


	10. Knitting is an Important Life Skill

Alfred hugged his sister close, reluctant to let go.

"Don't leave me, Mattie." He muttered, his face hidden in her hair. "Please." He begged. She laughed, but her smile was sympathetic as she drew back to look at him.

"I'll be back before you can miss me." She murmured, holding one of his hands in both her smaller ones and clutching it to her sternum. "I promise, Al, I'll come back. I need my big brother to protect me after all, don't I?" He nodded in response, smiling weakly. "I'll see you tomorrow night; until then, don't get into to much trouble, _oui?_" She waited for his affirmation before leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I'll see you soon, Alfred."

"I'll be a good boy, mother." He winked, before holding out a hand to help her into the motorcar that would be taking her to the station.

"And do _try_ to be nice to Lord Kirkland, won't you?" Mathilde begged, in whispered French.

"He won't know what's hit him, I'll be being so nice." Alfred promised. His sister shook her head, laughing softly.

"Oh Al." She sighed, in affectionate despair, before pressing the hand she still held briefly between both of her own, then to her cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow." She repeated.

"Have a good time."

"Shopping in London, brother? What more could any woman ask for?" She laughed softly, her smile reassuring him as he returned it, stepping back and allowing the chauffeur to close the door. He watched the car make its way slowly down the long, winding driveway, frowning still. He started as a hand came to rest on his shoulder, turning quickly, his position defensive. Lord Kirkland blinked up at him in shock, one hand still extended in front of him.

"S-sorry." Alfred had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, his smile sheepish as he stepped forward again, his shoulder fitting neatly back under the raised palm. He grinned down at the smaller man, waiting for him to continue with whatever he was about to say. But Arthur merely continued to stare, his mouth slightly open, his face steadily turning bright pink. Alfred held back his laughter, but his amusement at his companion's expression made it's way into his eyes as he asked: "What?" The Englishman's face darkened even further, if that was possible, before sliding into a scowl of disapproval.

"N-nothing, git." He muttered, and Alfred raised an eyebrow slightly at the insult as the older man turned and stormed off inside. He shook his head, bemused, and followed after, grinning a greeting at Tino and Peter as he passed.

"So what're we gonna do today?" He asked, once he'd caught up with his irate quarry.

"What are we _going to _do today?" Arthur corrected, almost automatically. "Your speech is appalling." He shook his head, irritated, but there was a flash of something almost like affection in his eyes as he looked up at the American. "And what do you mean, we? Don't you want to go… Oh, I don't know, explore the grounds or something? What _is_ it that you young boys do these days, anyway? Perhaps you could go play with Peter?" He raised an eyebrow at Alfred's whine of annoyance, before the younger boy realised he was being teased.

"Yeah, yeah, old man. I bet your kid brother's more fun than you are, at any rate. What do ya do for fun, anyway? Knit?"

"Knitting is a very important life skill!" Arthur spluttered, flushing again as his green eyes narrowed at his guest. "You never know what might happen in the future, it does well to be prepared for any eventuality."

"What eventuality does _knitting_ prepare you for? The eventuality where you somehow turn into an old woman?"

"Entirely possible." Arthur muttered under his breath, frowning down at his feet. Alfred seemed not to hear him, babbling eagerly on, suggesting activities that the pair could do that day. Arthur stopped in his tracks, folding his arms sternly and waiting for the younger man to realise. Alfred continued several feet down the corridor before he realised he was talking to himself (unless you counted the numerous pompous paintings lining the walls, their resemblance to the current Lord Kirkland clearly visible in the large eyebrows which seemed to be a strong family trait). He stopped, turning and tilting his head to one side slightly, confusion clear on his face.

"Ya coming, or not?" He asked, grinning cheerfully.

"Alfred." Arthur's tone showed he wasn't in the mood for the younger man's nonsense. "What _exactly_ is it you hope to achieve, today?" He asked, sceptically. "As much as I enjoy playing host to an over-excited puppy like yourself," He raised an eyebrow as he continued dryly. "I _do_ have other responsibilities than my guests, you know. Someone has to run… This." He waved a hand, indicating the long corridor, and the house in general. "You don't think it runs itself, do you?" He laughed, a little flatly. "Entertain yourself for a few hours. After supper, I'm all yours." The Englishman's expression changed abruptly, a slight smirk finding its place there before he turned and disappeared through a doorway that, until that moment, had gone unnoticed by Alfred. The American stared at the dark wood, wondering why his cheeks were suddenly hot.

**[A/N: Pfft, what's this? An update? I am sorry about that… See, first there was NaNo (which I succeeded at, just in case you're wondering~), then on the 5****th**** of December, we moved house, then we've been without internet for a month. A MONTH. So basically, don't blame me, blame O2?**

**But yeah, now I'm off ill, so… I thought I'd post this~! And maybe even write some more~! … If I can be bothered. Hey, I'm ill, right? So I should be allowed to go to bed…**

**Anywho, now I've wasted some of your time making you read this lame excuse, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Stay tuned for more updates. Maybe. **

**Don't get your hopes up.]**


	11. Now that was a Bad Idea, wasn't it?

Arthur took a deep, shaky breath, his back pressed to the door of his study.

"Just what was that about, old boy?" He asked himself, cursing softly as he made his way to his desk, after locking the door, firmly. Had he really just… He slammed his hand down on the thick mahogany desk, wincing as pain shot up his arm. At least it brought him back to reality. But with it, came full realisation. He turned, eyeing his reflection in the window with disdain. "Now answer me this, Arthur. Why, in the name of god, are you _flirting_ with your fiancée's brother?" His thick eyebrows furrowed into a deep scowl, and he turned away from the glass, slumping down in his chair. "I don't know if I can do this…" He mumbled, mournfully. "I wasn't made to take a bride…" He straightened himself, sitting up and folding his hands neatly in front of him as he stared straight ahead. "No. I am Lord Arthur Kirkland. I will not allow this… Weakness to cause me to loose sight of that fact. What I do, I do for the sake of my title, my ancestral family name…" He took another deep breath. "I may be rather taken with this… _boy_." He spat the word, as if it were an insult. "But his sister is my bride-to-be, and for the sake of this family, I must wed her." His shoulders slumped again, and he dropped his head onto his desk with a thud and a long groan. "I hate this…" He whispered, brokenly. "I hate this abnormality…" He allowed himself one more moment with his face pressed to the cool wood, before he sat up straight again, pulling a pile of letters towards him. He had to be strong, for the sake of his title. But he couldn't help shooting a glare in the direction of the family portrait that dominated the wall to his right; his three older siblings seeming to smirk down at him, as if knowing the torture they were putting him through, however inadvertently, by leaving the estate, the title, and all that went with it, to him.

Meanwhile, Alfred, oblivious to the torment his host was experiencing, wandered around the house, slightly dazed. Frowning to himself, he pressed a hand to his cheek, pleased to realise that the blush was no doubt faded by now.

"That was… Odd." He chuckled to himself, nervously. He frowned again, briefly, then shook his head. Ar- Lord Kirkland- hadn't meant _that_. Of course not. It was just his teenage mind getting the better of him. Satisfied with this explanation, he nodded to himself, then looked around, eyes widening as panic set in. The long corridor that stretched out before and behind him was completely unfamiliar. The dark, wood-panelled walls and the deep crimson carpet were identical to those in every other corridor in the huge house. Alfred took a deep breath. "I can handle this." He muttered, reassuring himself. "I'm the hero, after all… Right? Right! So I'm not sure where I am… That's fine!" He grinned, widely. "It'll be like an adventure!" He exclaimed, beaming at the portrait of a stuffy-looking individual with the thick, Kirkland eyebrows and a large, bushy beard. The portrait glared back, and Alfred shivered. Despite it being just paint on canvas, he felt those disapproving eyes boring into him. He stumbled backwards, unable to wrench his eyes away from the painting, and yelped as the wall behind him gave way. He fell through a doorway, shutting the thick door behind him and sighing in relief. He blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust from the gloom of the corridor outside to the bright sunlight pouring in through the windows directly in front of him. Then he walked forward, slowly, whistling in approval at the high shelves, packed with books, lining the walls of the room. He wasn't much for reading, himself, but even he could recognise age, and some of these books must have been hundreds of years old! Cautiously, he ran a finger down the thick, tattered spine of one close to him. Bound in dark leather, the thing looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. The title of the book was printed in faded gold lettering on the spine, and he leant down, trying to decipher it. It was written in French, and he grinned with pride as he finally managed to read the faded print. Then he wrinkled his nose; the book was to do with the history of the Anglo-French rivalry, something that, as an American, he wasn't all too interested in. He pulled it down, anyway, figuring that, if his sister was marrying an English aristocrat, and all Englishmen were obsessed with this whole hating-the-French thing, he should know something about it. Maybe he could even impress Arthur with his knowledge, show him that he wasn't just a bratty kid who needed entertaining all the time – he wasn't stupid, he could _read_ to pass the time – read archaic French, too! _That_ would certainly show him. He nodded again, in satisfaction, and allowed the heavy book to fall open in his hands. Within a few seconds of reading, he was bored out of his mind, and he allowed his eyes to wander as he translated the words in his head into more manageable, modern ones. His attention was caught by something at the back of the bookshelf, where he'd just removed the book he now held in his hands. Grinning, he put the tome down on the table beside a nearby arm chair, and moved back over to the bookcase. He wasn't imagining it – where the light streaming in from the windows hit the back of the shelf, there was a shape, a shadow, that didn't fit in with the rest of the wood. "Maybe a secret passage!" He muttered, excitedly, leaning in to poke and prod at it. Nothing happened, and he pouted, thunking his head on the shelf above sulkily. A hidden door sprang open and whacked him in the face, and he fell back on his butt, clutching his nose with an exclamation of pain. When the stinging had mostly faded, and the American had satisfied himself that it wasn't bleeding, he peered into the gloomy passage beyond, grinning again. The sunlight illuminated the first few feet, revealing another corridor panelled in dark wood. The floor beneath, however, was formed of thick slabs of stone, and Alfred scrambled to his feet, eager. He hurried into the passageway, stumbling slightly over the edge of one stone, slightly out of alignment with the rest of the floor. His arms flew out to either side to right himself, and one connected with some kind of switch. His eyes widened against the gloom as the door behind him swung shut, leaving him in the pitch darkness. He whimpered, slightly.

"Oh… Shit."

**[A/N: Well, there's your next chapter. I love old houses – the 'secret passageways' are always so awesome~! It's still fun to look for them, even now that I'm a teenager XD **

**Keep your eyes peeled to find out what happened to Allie~!]**


	12. Iggy to the Rescue!

Arthur scowled. About ten minutes ago, he'd heard a sound from behind his bookcase, but had ignored it. Now, frequent, if quiet, bumps and bangs, along with a muffled voice, were emerging from where he knew the servant's passage to be. Cursing as he found himself unable to ignore it anymore, he stood, swiftly, and strode over, pressing against the middle of the bookshelves firmly to open the hidden door. If Peter was playing around again, there was going to be trouble! The door swung forward, and he stood in the opening, arms folded disapprovingly, ready to launch into his memorised lecture about the dangers of playing in the passageways.

Alfred, eyes wide and slightly panicked behind his glasses, stumbled out of the darkness, almost falling against Arthur, whose outstretched arms wrapped automatically around the younger boy as he fell backwards, Alfred landing on top of him, both winded. Alfred whimpered slightly, hiding his face in the Englishman's shoulder as he muttered fervent thanks, clinging tightly to the older male. Arthur lay there, completely still and rather tense, feeling a flush spread across his face. Hesitantly, he raised a hand, intending to pat the younger boy reassuringly on the shoulder… But somehow, he found himself stroking his hair, instead. He murmured soothing nonsense, and hummed a lullaby he vaguely remembered his mother singing when he was younger. Soon, the whimpering stopped, and the hot, frantic breaths against his neck that were making him rather… Uncomfortable eased into slower, deeper ones.

"Are you done now, git?" Arthur asked, scowling to hide his discomfort. Silence was his only answer. "… Alfred? Alfred!" He lifted his shoulder as much as he was able, and a loud snore came in response. Arthur groaned, banging his head back against the wooden flooring. He attempted to wriggle out from under the American, but his weight had him pinned. "You need to go on a diet, git." He grumbled to himself, giving up on attempts to escape, and thwacking the younger boy on the back instead, in an attempt to wake him up. That, too, failed. Arthur sighed and resigned himself to the fate of being a pillow for the duration of his guest's nap.

"Arthur…" His name came in a soft sigh from Alfred's lips, and the Englishman blushed, brightly. Well. Maybe it wasn't that terrible a fate, after all…

Alfred groaned as he came to, unwilling to drag himself into consciousness after that horrible nightmare – he'd been trapped in a pitch dark room, unable to find a way out – had just become a half-decent dream. A beautiful angel with bright green eyes had opened the door and shown him the exit and then… He didn't know what had happened yet, he was waking up too fast. He wanted to go back to his dream, and thank the pretty angel…

He snuggled deeper into his pillow, wrapping his arms tighter around the body in them- wait. Alfred's eyes shot open, and he sat up abruptly, falling over himself as he shuffled away from the sleepy Englishman looking up at him from bright green eyes. He was about to ask something stupid, like: 'Why are you in my bed?', half-wondering if he was still dreaming, when it all came back to him. He blushed, darkly, as he remembered how his idiocy – entering a strange passageway without checking to see if it was safe – had gotten him trapped… How he'd been in there for what felt like hours, until a sound behind the wall blocking the end of the passageway had caught his attention and he'd turned just in time to see the door creak open, not even registering the scowl on Arthur's face as he'd stumbled towards him, out of the passageway.

He'd caught his foot on yet another uneven slab, tripped… His face flushed darker as the rest of the memory became clear to him. He'd clung to the lord, crying like a baby. W-well, it wasn't his fault he was scared of dark places in an old house which was probably haunted and there'd been all those noises and- he shivered again just thinking about it. Arthur was watching him curiously, almost amused as he watched the younger boy's expressions change as he remembered the events that had led them to their current positions. He stifled a yawn – somewhere along the lines, it seemed he'd fallen asleep too – and got to his feet, brushing himself off before reaching out a hand to help Alfred up.

"Come on, git." He muttered, almost affectionately. "It must be almost supper time, and no doubt you're famished after your little adventure."

"I am kinda hungry." Alfred admitted, grinning sheepishly, as he took the offered hand and stood. He frowned as Arthur's face slowly turned bright red, his gaze fixed on their joined hands. Alfred took his hand back, blushing. "Sorry." He apologised. Arthur blinked up at him, and Alfred grinned again. "Well c'mon then, are we gonna go eat or not?" He bounded out of the door.

"You're going the wrong way! … Git." Arthur shook his head, chuckling softly, and followed the younger boy out, leading him in the right direction with a gentle hand on the American's arm.

**[A/N: Oooooh, hello fluff~! Sorry about the delay… Again… My memory stick got corrupted and I lost all of this T_T I thought I was going to have to rewrite it completely, but luckily my uncle managed to save most of the plain text, and I just had to go through all the recovered files and piece together all my stories and everything… I hope this little bit of Iggy-Allie interaction was worth the wait ;) ]**


	13. Warnings: DUN DUN DUN C:

"I feel like I should warn you…"

Mathilde blinked in surprise at her companion; she'd gotten used to Felicja's… Interesting speech patterns, and to hear her suddenly speaking like a proper lady… It was a little surprising. "Warn me of what?" She asked, focusing her attention on the other girl's frown, as she looked out the window.

"About… The boss. And Gilbert, too, I guess…"

Mathilde flushed. "W-what about my fiancé?" She asked, though the smirk on Felicja's face suggested that the older woman knew Mathilde was more interested in the albino gardener.

"Lord Kirkland…" Felicja frowned, trying to find the words to explain. "Lord Kirkland… Has never been interested in marriage. The same for Gilbert, but for different reasons. You see, Gilbert has been known to… Seduce women, and then not take responsibility for his actions. He's left a trail of broken hearts behind him all the way from Prussia…" She giggled, then. "Like, he's so full of himself; he thinks he's totally incredible." Mathilde raised an eyebrow at the sudden return to the strange speech.

"Y'r voice 's 'nnoyin'." Berta griped from the front seat. "D'n't sc're th'g'rl." She turned to look at Mathilde, and her expression, though perhaps intended to be reassuring, merely served to make the heiress more nervous than any of Felicja's warnings.

"S-so what about my fiancé?" She asked, again. Both of the other women looked away. The chauffer, who until that moment had been politely pretending to ignore the women's conversation, spoke up.

"Lord Kirkland is said to have… Interesting tastes, ve. He's not the marrying kind because he's never shown any interest in women, ve. Lord Bonnefoy-"

"Uncle Francis?" Mathilde interrupted, leaning forwards. The chauffer nodded.

"Yes, your _Zio_, he has been seen with Lord Kirkland many times, and… To put it politely, ve… I'm sure you know of your _Zio_'s reputation?"

Mathilde blushed slightly. "I- I know." She replied, thinking of the unsavoury rumours about her uncle's sexual exploits that never failed to make her poor mother swoon in shock and shame.

"So… As Lord Kirkland is seen frequently to move in the same social circles as Lord Bonnefoy, ve…" The chauffer trailed off, but Mathilde had understood. She lowered her gaze to her lap demurely, but her mind was going at a mile a minute as she digested this new information. Her companions, seeing this gesture as a sign to leave the heiress alone whilst she thought, returned to their own activities – Felicja carefully repairing some item of clothing, and Berta staring blankly at the nervous driver as he babbled on about something, slipping into Italian after a moment. As such, all three missed the sly smirk that made it's way onto Mathilde's delicate face.

"So what would you like to eat?" Lord Kirkland asked his charge, looking away from the tall blonde woman who had taken over Berta's duties temporarily. Alfred shrugged.

"Whatever's going, I guess." He said, then brightened. "Ooh, I know." Lord Kirkland and the woman looked at him, waiting. "There's this kind of sandwich that's popular in America… I don't suppose your cook knows how to make 'hamburgers'?" Both looked at him, nonplussed. His face fell a little. "Oh… Well… It's kind of… Minced pork, all squished together and then stuck between two pieces of bread or toast…" The lady frowned.

"I will… Go ask Yao." She told her boss. Lord Kirkland shrugged.

"If he doesn't know how to make it, tell him he may cook whatever he pleases." He replied. "I'll have the usual." The blonde inclined her head and strode from the room. Arthur turned back to his guest.

"Americans." He tutted, carefully pouring them both a cup of tea, before reaching down the side of his chair and picking up his embroidery. Alfred watched him, fascinated.

"Ya know, I'm not sure if I should let ya marry my sister." He grinned. "You're more of a woman than she is!" Arthur blushed, slightly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Alfred." He scolded. "My father's will demands a union between our families. If I don't marry your sister, that only leaves me with you." Alfred smirked.

"Well, you would make a good wife~" He teased. Lord Kirkland's blush deepened and he threw the cushion from his chair at the American.

"Shut up, wanker!" He turned his attention devoutly back to his sewing, trying furiously to ignore the laughter of his guest, and hide the smile that he was unable to stop creeping onto his face at his companion's cheerful demeanour. "Besides, I'm the Lord; you would have to be my wife."

"Alfred F. Kirkland." The teenager said, thoughtfully. Lord Kirkland's cheeks went a little pink.

"Lady Alfred F. Kirkland." He corrected, his voice a little hoarse. Alfred thought about it a moment longer, then laughed.

"Naw, you'd be the wife. I mean, look at you! You're small, and cute, and you_ sew_. Can't get much more girly than that!"

"Sh-shut up. I don't even know why we're discussing this." Arthur was scowling, suddenly, and Alfred looked at him, a little hurt.

"S-sorry…" He frowned. "I was just kidding, no need to get so annoyed."

"You should watch what you say, Alfred." Lord Kirkland's expression was suddenly serious, but tired. He looked far older than his true age as he caught his companion's eyes with his own. "Your uncle's reputation is… Less than savoury, and I have been unfortunate enough to be tarnished with it." He looked away, flushing slightly. "The walls have ears, lad, and gossip spreads fast amongst the gentry. Your jokes could ruin lives – yours, mine… Even your sister's."

"How could something like that ruin my sister's life?" Alfred raised an eyebrow, sceptical. Arthur shook his head, slowly.

"As a young woman, her reputation is influenced by those she keeps company with – her parents, primarily, but also us; you as her brother, and I as her fiancé. We must be cautious. If anything were to happen to me, if I were unable to fulfil my side of the agreement-" and he was starting to think that marrying the young girl, no matter the rule his father had laid down, was impossible for someone… Like him- "We would hope that your sister's reputation remained flawless, so she would easily be able to find another suitor."

"Oh." Alfred nodded, understanding. "I get it. Right. No jokes. Got it." Arthur smiled, shyly, and put his needle down for a moment. He reached out, briefly touching his fingers to the back of his guest's arm.

"You're a good lad, Alfred. Some would call it naive; seeing the best in everyone and everything. But the British aristocracy is a bloodthirsty world, lad, and some would do anything in their power to ensure that their relative – be it son, daughter… Niece or nephew or grandchild – that their relative has the best possible marriage. There are some out there who would stop at almost nothing to end the engagement between your sister and I; your sister is, after all, the daughter of one of the richest men in America, and the Kirkland family name is a prestigious one. Both of us are desirable matches for many."

"I said I understand." Alfred scowled, leaning back in his chair. "Just get on with your sewing already, okay?" It was Arthur's turn to look hurt, but he quickly covered it with another scowl.

"Mind your manners, lad, I'm only looking out for your sister's wellbeing. You could at least be polite." He picked his needle up again, turning his attention back to the elaborate embroidery. There was a long silence. Then:

"You're right. I'm… I'm sorry." Arthur looked up, a little shocked. The American was staring at the wall, his eyes hidden by the reflection of the sunlight on his glasses. But the set of his mouth, grim determination, and the light pink tinge to his cheeks, suggested he'd been suitably chastised. The Englishman's expression softened again.

"You're forgiven, Alfred."

**[A/N: Well C: **

**That's pretty much all I have to say, really. Ooh, I know what I'mma do next chapter~. It'll be grawesome C:**

**Ta-ta for now, my luvvies~.]**


	14. The Introduction of Francis

"So this place is really old. Must have a lot of stories." Alfred was lying on his back on the lawn outside the mansion. Peter sat beside him, absentmindedly pulling the petals off a daisy.

"Loads." He replied, casually. "There's Great-great-grandfather Albert – he was killed by his son so he could take the title – and there's old Atherton and his sister, Constantia – they were forever at each other's throats, until one-night, they disappeared with no explanation. It's said their spirits still haunt the halls, arguing with each other, on stormy nights. And there's the little girl, who-"

"O-okay!" Alfred laughed, nervously. "That's enough g-ghost stories! Your brother'll get mad at me if I make you scare yourself with g-ghost stories!" Peter blinked up at him, frowning.

"But I'm not afraid of ghosts." He said. "I grew up with these stories. There's supposed to be over one-hundred ghosts haunting Kirkland Manor, and-"

"I get it! Lots of ghosts. Hey, wanna go out on the lake?" Alfred asked, changing the subject to something he knew the younger boy couldn't resist. Peter's face lit up with a beaming smile.

"Yeah!" He leapt to his feet, running in the direction of the lake house where he kept his little rowing boat. "You go ask Arthur, he likes you!"

"What's the magic word?" Alfred yelled after him, laughing. The younger boy didn't hear, and so the American disappeared back inside the house to look for the Lord. He couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine whenever he caught a glimpse of one of the morbid Kirkland ancestors' paintings out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey Arthur?" He called, poking his head around the door to Lord Kirkland's study. What he saw there made him freeze, his cheeks turning bright red. His Uncle Francis was leaning over Arthur, pinning him back against the desk. Arthur's hands were raised, pressed against Francis' chest, and his cheeks were bright red, but he didn't seem to be struggling as Francis kissed him thoroughly. Neither of them seemed to have noticed Alfred, standing in the doorway with his mouth wide open.

"_Cherie…"_ Francis purred, twisting long fingers in Lord Kirkland's hair and tugging his head back, before leaning down to press kisses to the bared throat. Alfred shifted uncomfortably on his feet, heat burning in his stomach as his cheeks flushed. He scowled, deciding that the burning sensation was anger – Arthur was cheating on Mathilde! And Uncle Francis… Well, Mother had always warned them of their Uncle's 'strange' ways… But to engage in such unsavoury behaviour with his niece's fiancé! Alfred's fists clenched by his side as he debated with himself as to what action he should take.

"G-get off me, git." Arthur panted, shoving against the older man. "I've already t-told you, no!"

"But _cherie_, you are engaged to be married to my darling Mathilde within the month! How will you satisfy yourself then?"

"I-I-"

"Arthur~" Francis murmured his name huskily, taking both the smaller man's wrists in one hand and restraining him, whilst the other pressed against his crotch. Arthur whimpered a little.

"F-francis, I mean it. Get off me." He began to struggle more vigorously.

"So hard already, _cherie_." Francis cooed, kneading the bulge in the Englishman's trousers. "How long has it been since you last indulged your baser desires, Arthur?" He smirked, his voice dropping. Alfred could still hear every word as he frowned, still unsure of what his reaction should be. "When did you last touch yourself, _my lord?_ When did you last take someone to bed? When did you last press your fingers into yourself, imagining someone taking you in that forceful way you like? Who did you last fantasise about, Arthur?" Alfred couldn't take it anymore. He backed quietly from the room, pulling the door shut silently behind him as he headed back out to the lake where Peter eagerly awaited permission to take the boat out, trying to put the events out of his mind.

Back in the study, both Arthur and Francis remained unaware that they had briefly had company. Arthur was still struggling as Francis continued to palm his growing arousal, but his protests were growing weak. It _had_ been a long time, it was true. He'd been trying to supress his… Tastes for the better part of a year, ever since he'd found out about that damned clause in his father's will… Not that he'd ever exercised them so flamboyantly before, not like Francis did… The Frenchman was by now well on his way to removing Arthur's shirt, placing more kisses and small bites down his neck and chest, leaving marks – thankfully in places that could be easily hidden.

"Tell me, Arthur. What is your _true_ reason for denying me, hmm?" He murmured, sinking to his knees and resting his cheek on the Englishman's thigh. "You have never fought so… _Ardently_ before, _cherie_. Is there something on your mind? Something, perhaps, that you would like to share with big brother? Perhaps about my dear niece?" Arthur just scowled at him.

"Get off me." He replied, flatly. Francis smirked.

"_Non_. I don't think I will, Arthur. You're very tense, _cherie_. Bedding you will make us both feel better, _non_?"

"No it bloody won't!" Lord Kirkland replied hotly, beginning to struggle again. The Frenchman calmly held his wrists, leaning on his thighs to keep them in place and leaning forward to undo his flies with his teeth. Despite himself, Arthur blushed, tensing slightly at the display. Francis had to release his wrists in order to tug down his under things, and Arthur took the opportunity to slap him, resorting to pulling at his hair when that failed. Francis just moaned.

"Oh yes, Arthur, you know I love it when you're violent with me!" He teased, before taking him into his mouth. Lord Kirkland slapped him again, and in return, the older man grazed his teeth along the flesh in his mouth, making Arthur instantly compliant as he closed his eyes and fought back desperate, pleading moans. Francis smirked, and proceeded to put his considerable amount of talent and experience to work until the Englishman had given up on any sense of dignity and was using his grip on the soft blonde hair in his hands to force the Frenchman's head down faster and rougher, thrusting hard into the willing mouth. He threw his head back, coming with a wordless cry that resolved itself into a name.

"A-Alfred!"

Francis sat back on his heels, licking his lips, before his mouth resolved itself into a smirk. "So _that's_ who you've been thinking of." He murmured, smugly.

The dishevelled, flushed and panting Lord Kirkland just glared.

**[A/N: HoshitwhatisthisIdon'teven-**

**Firstly, that appears to be a sex scene, or close enough. Which I don't /do/, generally.**

**Secondly, it appears to be FrUK, which I also don't /do/.**

**I'd apologise… But I am a mere vessel, I go where the story takes me C: And I'm sure /most/ people won't be complaining about the impromptu smut, but if it offended you, I'm so sorry. That wasn't the intention of this chapter, but once I started writing… It just seemed to fit.**

**Oh, and Allie's upset now too. Whatever will happen next, I wonder? *innocenceplz*]**


	15. Things that go Bump in the Night

_Boom._

An elegant fork of lightning split the sky in two, lighting the room in which Alfred slept as brightly as if it were day.

_Boom._

The blonde teenager rolled over in his bed, groaning a little, as another flash of lightning lit the room.

_Boom._

The rain started then, hammering against the roof, the walls, and the windows, as if desperately seeking a way into the manor house.

_Boom._

Groggily, Alfred lifted his head, glancing at the windows. The curtains were open – he'd collapsed on his bed earlier, after Peter had finally allowed him off of the boat and back inside out of the oppressive, sticky heat warning of the thunderstorm to come, without so much as undressing.

_Boom._

Alfred untangled himself from the bedclothes, yawning and looking down at his rumpled clothing distastefully. He undid his tie and unclipped his braces, letting them hang at his sides as he stripped off his formerly-crisp white shirt, tossing it over a chair for the maid to collect later. Bare-chested, he yawned again, padding over in bare feet – if he recalled correctly, he'd taken his socks off after one of the more disastrous capsizes and had neglected to replace them – to the window, staring out at the fierce storm raging outside, a thin sheet of glass all that separated him from the elements.

_Boom._

A little more awake, Alfred flinched at the loud roar of thunder.

"The storm must be right overhead." He muttered to himself, reaching out to tug the curtains across. His gaze fell absently on the lawn where he'd sat with Peter earlier that afternoon; the lush grass dyed blue-black by the storm.

_Boom._

'Oh Constantia, _darling_, you can't _possibly_ still be annoyed about _that_. I was only a mere _child_ after all, you can't _honestly_ still be holding a grudge about something that happened over a century ago.'

'But _Atherton, dearest brother,_ I was barely older than you were when I was first entrusted with the task, and _I_ excelled at it. Daddy always said-'

_Boom._

Alfred froze, mid-stretch, as the reality of what he'd just heard sunk in. Who would be up at this hour? All the servants were surely in bed, but those names sounded oddly familiar…

_Boom._

'_And there's old Atherton and his sister, Constantia – they were forever at each other's throats, until one-night, they disappeared with no explanation. It's said their spirits still haunt the halls, arguing with each other, on stormy nights…'_

_Boom._

Alfred flinched. Atherton and Constantia… No, he must be hearing things. It was his imagination, that's what it was. He was unsettled from what he'd seen earlier; he was still dreaming, anything…

_Boom._

'Oh please, Constantia, you always _claim_ that you were daddy's favourite, but I see no _proof_ of this adoration he held for you. _I_ was his first son, after all; you a mere daughter.'

'Oh but Atherton, dear, I was his favourite precisely _because_ I was his daughter. Besides, _you_ were always a poor excuse for a son. I mean, look at your _hair_! And _don't_ think I don't know of your affair with the stable-boy.'

'_What_ affair, precisely, Constantia? You know as well as I that I was _devoted_ to my studies, as were you-'

'_I_ a little _more_ than you, I feel.'

'Oh? And what of your _infatuation_ with that foreign nursemaid, hmm? Oh, I see by your blush I have touched a nerve there, dear sister…'

_Boom._

No. His imagination wasn't _that_ vivid. He turned, terrified of what he might see.

_Boom._

A flash of lightning revealed the room to be empty. Alfred's shoulders slumped in relief, and he began to walk back over to his bed, leaving the curtains as they were.

_Boom._

'Oh bloody hell, Atherton, sometimes I worry about this _obsession_ you have with this so called 'infatuation' I held. I _admired_ the woman, certainly. She was well-learned for a foreigner, after all, but I would not refer to it as an 'infatuation'…'

'So what _would_ you refer to it as then, hmm? You would _blush_ when she told you how pretty you were-'

'Mere modesty, Atherton, I assure you. What of the time you returned from the stables _limping_, hmm?'

_Boom._

Alfred whimpered as two shadowy figures floated aimlessly through his wall, so intent on their argument that they ignored the American completely. The male, his long dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, wore a bright blush, clearly visible despite his translucent appearance. The female smirked a little, arms folded smugly over an enormous bosom. Both wore clothing more fitting to the previous century than the more modern styles Alfred was used to.

_Boom._

'Oh _please_ Constantia, _darling_, you know very well that I merely experienced a fall whilst riding that day.'

'Oh I'm certain you were _riding_, dear Atherton, but _what_, exactly? Your mare was not taken from her stall all day; she was still recovering from the birth of her foal, if I recall…'

'So _crude_, Constantia…' The male figure shook his head, still blushing, and Alfred whimpered again, backing towards the door to his sister's room. He felt his back thunk against wood, and fumbled for the door handle.

_Boom._

'Atherton, we've been having this argument for decades, and you have yet to convince me of your innocence…' The female was saying as Alfred finally got the door open and toppled backwards through it, not taking his eyes off the apparitions until the thick wooden door was firmly shut again. As an afterthought, he turned the key in the look and, shivering as he glanced, paranoid, over his shoulder at the door, stumbled over to his sister's bed, crawling under the covers and pulling the pillow over his head.

**[A/N: Filler chapter? We shall see C:**

**Well. Mixed reactions about that last chapter, and I have to say I myself wasn't sure about it. I debated changing it, but I've decided to leave it as is. I've changed the rating of the story to accommodate it.**

**The main complaint people had was that it was FrUK when this is meant to be USUK… But don't worry, my lovely little Allie/Artie fans, it won't happen again. There may be the occasional FrUK moment, but that's just France nii-chan's ways, non?**

**I'll also accept votes on who you want him to end up with, if you want ;)**

**Finally, Constantia and Atherton are OCs belonging to me and my friend. They represent Oxfordshire and Cambridgeshire respectively. The rivalry between their universities has led to this kind of love/hate relationship… But they do adore each other really. Deep down. Really, really, deep down. Deeper than that. Deeper… Deeper… There. That deep C: **

**See you in the next chapter, which should be coming your way shortly. I myself love it. It's just so… *melts* But we'll see what everyone else thinks, neh? ;)**

**Thanks, for those who made it this far despite the FrUK C: ]**


	16. In which Allie messes up Again

Arthur blinked blearily as the bright sunlight, creeping in through a crack in the curtains, forced its way through his closed eyelids, dragging him into wakefulness. Luise, the maid, nodded a greeting at him as she collected his clothes from the previous night and left the room, her cheeks flushed. Arthur yawned and nodded in response, wondering what had gotten his normally composed maid so flustered. He snuggled deeper into his covers… And that was when he realised that he was not alone in his bed; a warm arm was wrapped around his waist, a face pressed to his shoulder. He winced, remembering the events of the previous night.

"Damnit, Francis, I said no." He scolded, attempting to wriggle away from the arm, which was equally determined to keep him close. "You bloody great pervert, I'm engaged to your bloody _niece_, don't you have any bloody decency?"

"Stop't, Mattie. 'm still tired." The body mumbled, and Arthur froze up. That was _not_ Francis' voice. Fearfully, the Englishman twisted his upper body, peering over his shoulder at a pair of sleepy blue eyes blinking up at him from beneath tousled blonde hair. "You're not Mattie." The boy muttered, yawning.

"No I'm not, Alfred." Lord Kirkland muttered softly, trying not to alarm the American. "What are you doing in my bed, lad?"

"Was lookin' fer Mattie." Alfred mumbled, snuggling closer to his living teddy bear as Arthur sat up, blushing at Alfred's proximity and state of undress. "Thun'er storm. Ghosts. Got scared." He shivered. "Dun'like ghosts." Arthur sighed, stroking the boy's hair absentmindedly.

"Constantia and Atherton?" He asked, smiling grimly as the American nodded, leaning sleepily against the older man. "Yes, they can be quite… Intimidating. Fascinating, of course – you won't find two better educated spirits – but to the average person… Frightening. I'll have a word with them. You weren't bothered by any of the others?" Alfred shook his head, before lowering it back to rest on the lord's chest, and Arthur fought down the shiver caused by the press of warm skin through his thin nightshirt. "That's something, I suppose. Alfred…" He trailed off, hesitant. "You should probably return to your own room now, lad. People will talk if they find you cuddling up to me in my bed." He raised an eyebrow.

"But I'm comfy here." Alfred replied, brow furrowed in an expression of innocent confusion. "Why will they talk?"

"Because you're in my bed, Alfred." Arthur repeated, slowly. "And we're not children, related or married, so we shouldn't be in bed together."

"Dun'care." Alfred muttered, sullenly. "You wouldn't mind if it was Uncle Francis." He added, tone accusatory. Arthur tensed up, cheeks turning bright red.

"Wh-what? Wh-what are you implying, lad?"

"I saw you and Uncle Francis yesterday." Alfred explained, still sulking. "Cheating on Mathilde." Arthur sighed.

"I see. Well, I suppose if you saw, there's no hiding it from you. Your uncle and I have been…" He hesitated, carefully phrasing what he was about to say. "Intimate, for several years. I- I attempted to end our… Relationship, about twelve months ago; about the time I found out about the clause in my father's will that meant I would have to marry your sister. Your uncle has been… Reluctant, to say the least, to comply with my wishes. What you saw yesterday…" He looked away, blushing, then his eyes went wide as he remembered exactly _whose_ name he had called at his climax. "H-how much did you see, yesterday?" He asked, frantically. Alfred shrugged.

"I left when Uncle Francis started asking you lewd things." He blushed a little. "I… Didn't want to know the answer." He added in a mumble. Arthur sighed again.

"I'm sorry you had to find out about my… Unnatural tastes in this way, Alfred. I… I would have preferred you never to find out, if I'm honest." He shook his head. "I thought I could simply… Abstain, and be faithful to my bride… But it's not that simple."

"It's not something you can change through willpower…" Alfred muttered. "I understand. I… Won't tell Mathilde."

"No lad, I can't possibly marry your dear sister under false pretences… Many… Like me do take brides, despite their… Tastes… But I shall not. Your sister deserves far better than a man who can never desire nor love her; my brother shall have to take the title, and I… I live off his goodwill." He laughed, bitterly. "Though he has little of that for me, these days." He shook his head again. There was a long pause, before Alfred sat up, the duvet falling to his waist as he looked at the older man seriously, frowning a little. Arthur blushed as he fought to keep his eyes on the American's face.

"No. Mathilde would hate that even more. I think… Well, she's never really shown any interest in marriage, or settling down, really. She wants to see the world. I think… Marrying you would be good for her. She'd still be able to explore, and she wouldn't feel as tied down as she would if she married someone who loved her, and expected her to bear him children." Alfred said, thoughtfully. "I'd rather she married you than any of the other aristocrats Mother and Father know. They're all stuffy and boring and old… You're still pretty stuffy and boring, but you're nice, at least. Nicer than them, at any rate… More… Real, somehow." He laughed, nervously, looking at the window as if fascinated by the dark green curtains. "I'd like having you as a brother-in-law, Arthur." The Englishman stared at him for a long moment, then looked down at the duvet, running a finger over the leaves of the border that he himself had sewn, blushing.

"Brother-in-law…" He murmured. "I'm… Glad that you still feel that way, despite… What you know of me. My… Perversion." He flushed deeper. Alfred looked back at him, staring at the embarrassed blush he knew was mirrored in his own cheeks. He swallowed, feeling that strange sensation again. But he wasn't still angry with Arthur, was he?

"Yeah." He muttered, distractedly, absentmindedly admiring the way the sun made Arthur's eyes glow, and the glint that it gave to his dirty-blonde hair. "You'll make a good husband… For Mathilde." He added, blush deepening. Arthur's eyes widened slightly at the flash of lust he was _sure_ he had just seen in the American's blue eyes. That kind of expression was unmistakable if one had spent any length of time with Francis…

"We should get up." He said, taking pity on the confusion in the younger man's face, laying a reassuring hand on his arm. "Luise and Yao will have breakfast ready shortly; you should go get ready." He patted the boy's arm, then stood, heading over to his wardrobe. "I'll see you in a few minutes, lad." He called over his shoulder as he removed his nightshirt, dropping it into a nearby basket, intended for that very purpose. Alfred stared for a few moments longer, then shook his head as if to clear it, scrambling out of the Lord's bed and, shivering slightly, headed back to his own room.

**[A/N: And that is why the last chapter was not filler. **

**Assuming Allie woke up at midnight, and Arthur wakes up at 8am, they've just spent eight hours sleeping together.**

**Enjoy that thought, my lovelies~**

**P.S. Mattie returns next chapter, just in case any of you were missing her~ No, silly me, you were all too distracted by the USUK, weren't you? I know why you're /really/ here ;)**

**Alsofem!Germany,yesplz]**


	17. Mattie Returns

"Mathilde!" Alfred hugged his sister tightly, lifting her right off her feet and twirling her around. She laughed, kissing his cheek.

"It's nice to see you missed me, Al." She murmured, taking his arm as he placed her gently back on her feet. Alfred nodded at Felicja and Berta.

"Thanks for looking after her." He grinned.

"It was like, nothing." Felicja beamed, flipping a hand. "Like, any excuse to go shopping, right? So like… Where's Toris?" She asked, flipping her blonde hair and folding her arms with a pout.

"Dad!"

"Oh _Peter_!" Tino, frowning at the title, ran after the eager boy as he sprinted over to his nanny, hugging her tightly. Berta smiled down at him; probably affectionately, but it was hard to tell. Alfred shivered a little at the expression.

"M'ss me, P'ter?" She asked, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. Peter nodded.

"But Alfred took me out on the lake! We were out for hours! Alfred's not very good at rowing though, he kept capsizing the boat…" The boy continued to babble excitedly, Berta nodding along as she listened.

"Welcome home, Berta." Tino smiled, leaning up on to his tiptoes to kiss his wife's cheek.

"M'ss'd y', m'wife."

"Well come along inside, ladies and gentlemen, it's going to rain shortly." Arthur called from the doorway of his manor, arms folded as he frowned. Alfred glanced up at the clear blue sky, then over at his sister, who shrugged elegantly. Nonetheless, they took the lord's suggestion and headed inside, finding Luise and Toris setting the table for afternoon tea, with five places. Five? But even counting Peter, there were only four of them… Alfred had noticed that, strangely, Lord Kirkland often invited his servants to eat with him; perhaps then, the fifth place was for one of them? And then a pleased gasp from his sister took his attention back to her, and then over to where she was looking. An elegantly dressed man stood there, his blonde hair tied back with a ribbon as he smiled pleasantly at the twins.

"Uncle Francis!" Mathilde cooed, running to him and hugging him. Alfred just frowned, eyes flicking over to Arthur almost instinctively. The Englishman was bright red, and looking anywhere but at the two men. He moved over to the table and sat down, attempting to start a conversation with the still-excited Peter, who was oblivious to the tension between the three men.

"Alfred, _cher_, aren't you going to come hug your favourite uncle?" Francis grinned charmingly at his nephew, who scowled and strode over to the table, taking the seat to Arthur's right. Francis looked at the American, confused, and held out the seat to the lord's left for his niece, who thanked him in French and gestured for him to sit beside her as she continued to talk with him excitedly in his native tongue. Outside, it started to rain…

It wasn't until an hour after the meal, (made awkward by Arthur and Alfred's blatant ignoring of everyone, no matter how much Mathilde tried to fill the uncomfortable silence with chatter about her trip to London, with asking questions about Alfred and Arthur's activities in her absence – both blushed at that – and with fluent conversation with her Uncle in French), that Alfred remembered that the seat to the right of the host was traditionally taken by his bride.

He blushed, kicked the wall, and fell back onto his bed, staring up at the patterned ceiling, tracing each of the elaborate plaster shapes with his eyes. The attempt to distract himself didn't work, and he flicked his eyes instead to the tapestries on the walls, the view outside the windows, even the carvings on his heavy wooden bed frame. Nothing was enough to stop his mind from racing, from remembering the way Arthur's eyes glowed when the sun hit them, the sight of his bare back, the skin pale and unmarked, and likely soft, the way all aristocrats' was, the thought of the blush of arousal across his cheeks, his head thrown back, soft moans emanating from his throat-

Alfred shook his head and rolled onto his side, staring at a knot in the wood panelling of his wall.

"I… I mustn't think of that." He reminded himself. "I've forgiven Ar- Lord Kirkland for that. He'll marry Mathilde and look after her well, she'll be happy and won't be corrupted…" He thought then, of the strange, pale man who'd found Mathilde in the gardens on her first day, and scowled. "She'd definitely be better off with Art- Lord Kirkland than with that Gilbert fellow."

Speak of the devil, and all that…

**[A/N: ON THAT OMINOUS NOTE, BETCHA CAN'T GUESS WHO'S COMING BACK IN NEXT CHAPTER CCCCCC:**

**Okay, exam season now, so you'll either get no updates or loads of them… We'll see, neh? XD]**


	18. In which Allie is Blind

"My lady Mathilde, may I have a word?" Gilbert leant casually against the wall of the orchard where Mathilde had been taking a quiet stroll to think. His pale lips were twisted up into a smirk that would no doubt have melted any other woman, seductive as it was. Mathilde, however, just raised an eyebrow.

"What do you want, Mr. Beilschmidt?" She asked, coldly, continuing her walk. Gilbert fell in next to her, long strides keeping up easily with her easily.

"Just to talk, liebling…" He replied smoothly, unperturbed by her fast pace. She stopped, suddenly, and turned to face him, folding her arms and frowning.

"I won't be one of your conquests, sir, if that's what you intend. I am engaged to Lord Kirkland, and I intend to retain my honour." Lilac eyes narrowed at the smirk that settled back into place easily on the Prussian's handsome face.

"What a conclusion to leap to, my lady Mathilde."

"Jones." Mathilde shook her blonde hair out of her face, wishing she'd thought to tie it back. "Miss Jones, if you please. I shan't be a lady until I am wed, and for you to use my given name suggests an intimacy between us that you are not entitled to." Normally she rejected the use of her surname like that, thinking it made her sound cold and aloof, but right now, she would use anything and everything in an attempt to distance herself from Gilbert Beilschmidt.

"Very well then… Miss Jones. As I said, liebling, I just want to talk…"

"Talk? About what?" She asked, still suspicious of him. Gilbert spread his hands innocently, smiling.

"Anything. Everything. I'd like to get to know you." Mathilde rolled her eyes and turned away from him again, resting her palm against the rough bark of a nearby pear tree.

"Ridiculous. Why would you just want to talk? I have heard of your reputation, sir, and I do not care for it. Moreover, interaction between us is inappropriate as anything more than mistress and servant. I may very well one day be the lady of this household, and then and only then will we interact with any kind of courtesy. Until then, I would prefer you to stay away from me unless I am chaperoned. It is unseemly otherwise, and I do not wish for rumours to come about that may damage my family's reputation, or that of my fiancé."

"You will be the lady of this household soon, Miss Jones… Soon enough that I think I should start to treat you as my lady from this moment, so as you may become accustomed to being an aristocrat in charge of a manor full of servants." Mathilde, glancing at the Prussian as he spoke, narrowed her eyes again, her suspicions not eased by his words. They proved founded when the pale man reached out and laid his hand over hers on the trunk of the tree. Mathilde tensed, and Gilbert eased her fingers into his own and knelt, kissing her hand, all the while looking up at her, that smirk back in place. "So command me… Mistress." He purred. Despite herself, Mathilde felt her pulse begin to race, a flush coming to her pale cheeks. She stared at him, wide eyed, for a fraction of a second, then tore her hand away from his, before striding off in the direction of the house as fast as her sweeping skirts would allow her. Though she did not look back, Gilbert remained in his position, one knee pressed into the grass, the other up, his elbow resting upon it, and his chin upon his hand. He chuckled, softly as he watched the American heiress leave.

"Keseseses… Ich werde ihr habe…"

Meanwhile, Alfred was watching their interaction out of the window in Arthur's study. He couldn't hear the words that were exchanged between his sister and the strange Prussian, but he recognised the expression of irritation on his sister's face, and smiled a little. Though his instincts told him to run out there to defend Mathilde's honour, he remained where he stood as she glared at him, and turned away. But then came the kiss to her hand, and Alfred tensed. A hand came to rest on his arm, and he glanced down at Lord Kirkland, who, silently, had moved up next to him, and was also watching the proceedings in the orchard below. He blushed a little, as he did whenever Lord Kirkland touched him now, ever since…

"From what I have seen of your sister, she will not allow Gilbert to take such liberties." Arthur murmured, putting all thoughts of _that _incident out of the American's head as he looked back to the orchard, where his sister now Mathilde turned, frowning, and hurried away from the pale man. Alfred relaxed slightly; Arthur nodding, satisfied.

"She will indeed make a good bride, though many would not see it that way." Alfred glanced at him again, frowning in confusion.

"Why would they not see her as a good bride? Mathilde is a marvellous match-"

"Of course, lad." Arthur smiled at him, patting his arm, then moved to take a seat behind his desk, motioning Alfred to take the chair opposite. Alfred flushed as the thoughts of what had happened on this desk rose to mind, but sat, resting his hands on his knees as he tilted his head to the side slightly, waiting for Lord Kirkland to continue.

"Well? Why would they not think Mathilde is a good bride?"

"Because she has a mind of her own, lad." The Englishman explained. "Generally, that's not a desired trait in a wife. Not in England, at any rate."

"Oh." Alfred muttered, understanding. "But you don't care, right?" He looked up, anxiously. Arthur felt his heart lurch. He cursed himself profusely.

"There is no other option. I will marry your sister." He replied curtly, and stood.

Alfred followed suit, frowning. "What-"

Arthur suddenly realised that he was already in his office, and had nowhere to retreat to, and strode over to one of the bookshelves lining the walls, taking down a book and pretending to be fascinated by it. "It's about time you left, Alfred. I'm busy. Go play with Peter." Unfortunately for him, Alfred chose that moment to exhibit a sharpness that had previously been hidden by his idiotic nature as he followed the older man over to the bookshelves, taking the book from him and holding it up high, making use of the height advantage he had over the lord as, scowling, the Englishman stood on tiptoes and stretched up, trying to reach it. "G-git! Give that back! I- I have important work to do, get out of here!"

"Important work to do involving 'The Collected Works of Geoffrey Chaucer'?" Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow as he read the title of the book. "Gee, I thought Chaucer was a poet." Knowing he was caught, Arthur glared up at the American, and moved back to his desk, facing away from Alfred. "What's going on with you, Arthur?" Alfred asked, exasperated, as he put the book back in its place on the shelf and moved over to stand next to the smaller blonde. He grasped Lord Kirkland's shoulders, ducking his head to meet the flushed Englishman's eyes. "Every time I think we're getting along okay, you suddenly start acting the aloof aristocrat again. I don't understand. Is it something I've done?" He laughed, nervously. "I mean, it can't be, because I'm so charming – I mean, how could anyone resist me – but uh…"  
"Yes… How could anyone resist you…" Arthur murmured, sighing. He turned, and glanced up at his future brother-in-law. "You're bloody blind, Alfred…" Ignoring the confused, hurt expression on Alfred's face wasn't easy, but he managed it as he sat back down at his desk and began to sort through some papers. "Please leave, Alfred. It's just- I'm just- It's just difficult for me… This whole… Marriage." He smiled, wryly. "As you can imagine, it wasn't really something I ever thought I'd have to deal with. It's making me… Tense…"

"Oh… I get it." Alfred grinned. "Alright, I'll leave you alone for now. I'll come back later and check on you, 'kay?" Arthur nodded in response and, glancing over his shoulder, Alfred took his leave. Once the thick, heavy door was closed behind him; the boy heading out down the corridor to look for his sister or the Lord's younger brother, Arthur dropped his head to his desk.

"Completely bloody blind."

**[A/N: Yo!**

**Well, here's the next chapter. C: I wanted to get it up before I went on holiday, but it wasn't quite finished…**

**Tomorrow is my last exam, so I'll be doing a lot more writing after that. Hopefully I can finally get into some sort of regular updating schedule! … Don't look so doubtful, guys.**

**Now before I go, thank you so much to all the people who've favourited, reviewed, and wished me luck with my exams and such! It means a lot to me; and I want you all to know that even if I don't reply to your review, I read it, and appreciated it. C:**

**Okay, sappy stuff over, run along you hos and I'll see you next chapter, where some of your requests may be coming into play… ;)]**


	19. I'm Running out of Witty Titles

"Hey… Mathilde… How do you know if you… Are attracted to someone?" Alfred frowned, playing with a loose thread on the cover of his sister's bed. He lay on his front, his ankles crossed in the air, his chin resting on one hand as he stared blankly at the flower-patterned duvet. Mathilde, sat at her dressing table, raised an eyebrow at her brother's reflection in the mirror, pausing halfway through a brush-stroke. Thinking, she slowly lowered the silver-backed hair brush, setting it down on the table and folding her hands neatly on her lap. Blushing slightly, she kept her eyes on her brother's reflection as she answered.

"How would I know, Al?" She murmured. "I…" Alfred sat up, raising an eyebrow at her; their eyes met in the mirror.

"I've seen the way you look at that Prussian fellow, Mathilde. Even though you try not to, you are charmed by him." Mathilde sighed and looked down at her lap.

"_Oui_, Alfred I… Am attracted to him." She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Lord help me, Alfred, but I fear I won't be able to resist him for much longer." She breathed. Her brother stood and walked over to her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

"I'll help." He promised. "I'll keep him away from ya as much as possible, I promise." Mathilde smiled sadly and rested a hand on one of his, leaning back against him.

"_Merci_, Alfred, but you can't always be there for me…"

"I can and will." The boy swore. "You're my sister, Mattie, and I won't let some perverted European get to you." Mathilde smiled affectionately.

"So why do you ask, brother? Has one of the women here caught your eye?" She smirked knowingly as Alfred flushed, stuttering out a reply. She hummed thoughtfully. "Well, the only women we have met since we arrived are Berta, Felicja and Luise… And both Berta and Luise are married, Berta to Tino and Luise to Feliciano, the chauffeur. Felicja, I am aware, is single… But she and Toris seem quite enamoured of each other. So who is it, Alfred?"

"No-one." Alfred muttered, moving away, standing by the window. Mathilde laughed and picked her brush back up, smiling to her reflection as she drew it through her hair.

"Whoever No-one is, they're very lucky." She murmured, glancing over to see the pink flush on her brother's cheeks. "As for your question, Al, when I see Gilbert, I feel at once equal measures of both annoyance and desire. His disregard for women as anything more than objects for him to play with irritates me, but the way he looks, the way he speaks… I somehow find myself drawn to him." She blushed a little. "When I think of him, I feel a little nervous, yet terribly excited. It's a… Wonderful feeling, Al… Though scary, too. My stomach feels as though it's full of butterflies, and I find myself wandering around in a dream-state." She sighed. "I… Am so weak. I'm engaged to be married, and yet I'm feeling these things for one of my fiancé's servants…"

"Better than feeling them for your fiancé…" Alfred muttered. Mathilde smiled secretively.

"_Pardon_, Alfred? I'm not sure I understand… Surely feeling them for my fiancé would be far better?" The smile morphed into a pleased smirk as her brother blushed. "Alfred… Are you attracted to Lord Kirkland?" He turned away abruptly.

"M-mathilde! To… To even suggest such things…!" Mathilde laughed a little, standing and walking over to him. She wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her cheek to his back, laying her hands over his heart.

"Al, there's no shame in loving someone…"

"I don't love him, Mattie!" Alfred snapped, and that in itself alerted her to how torn her brother was; the absence of his normally cheerful persona spoke volumes. "B-besides, such things are sinful to even consider-"

"Because you're both men?" Mathilde asked, raising an eyebrow as she turned him to face her. "Uncle Francis sees no problem with it, does he?"

"Uncle Francis is perverted beyond belief. His scandals have shamed our family for years." Mathilde groaned, aggravated.

"Oh, Al!" She sighed. "Berta is married to a man smaller than her who she refers to as her wife; her charge calls her 'dad'! Feliciano told me that as a child, he was frequently dressed as a girl, and I have it on good authority that Felicja is not all she seems…" She smiled and leant up to kiss her brother's cheek. "Alfred, this house is full of strange relationships. I know mother, father and the rest of society may not approve, but Uncle Francis and I will support you if you choose to be with Lord Kirkland." Alfred scowled. "What's wrong, Al?" Mathilde asked, concerned.

"Uncle Francis won't support me." Alfred muttered. "He and Arthur… They… They're… Intimate." He flushed as he remembered that scene, hands clenching into fists at his sides. Mathilde blushed, a hand moving to cover her mouth.

"O-oh…" She murmured. "I… See…" Alfred turned his head away.

"Please, don't speak of this again." He mumbled, before turning and striding sharply out of the room. "I'll see you at dinner. I… Need time to think." Mathilde watched him leave, worry plain on her face. She didn't try to stop him, instead moving back to her dressing table and lifting her brush back to her hair, her mind in turmoil.

**[A/N: I now intend to update every Sunday from here on out. Let's see how long I can keep it up, neh? **

**As an incentive, for every day that I'm late without a good excuse, (such as illness or no internet; 'I was too lazy' doesn't count as an excuse, 'kay?) that number of reviewers get a request C: So if I didn't post a chapter until Tuesday, the first two reviewers after I posted the new chapter would get a request; either something to put in a later chapter, or a one-shot. **

**No promises on how quickly they'll be posted, though –brick'd–**

**Anywho, let's see if I can get the internet working enough to post this, neh? XD]**


	20. Luise Disapproves as usual

"Arthur, we need to talk."

"What about, frog?" The Englishman asked irritably, without looking up from his papers. "I'm busy, you prat, can't you go harass someone else?"

"Non, mon ami. We must talk." The serious tone in Francis' voice, at odds with his normal flirtatious nature, caused Lord Kirkland to look up, one eyebrow raised.

"Very well. Let's talk."

Francis sighed and moved around to Arthur's side of the desk, leaning against the heavy piece of furniture. "Arthur… What are your intentions towards my nephew?" The smaller man flushed, scowling to disguise his embarrassment.

"I have no intentions, git!" He snapped, looking back to his paperwork.

"_Oui_, of course, that's why you cry his name at the height of your passions." Francis rolled his eyes. "Arthur, we have always been frank with each other, _oui_?"

"_Ou-_ I mean yes." Lord Kirkland muttered, flushing again at the slip.

"You have a weakness for blue eyes." The Frenchman smirked. "I would know. And no-one is denying that dear young Alfred has a lovely pair of eyes as blue as the sky… Well, maybe not the English sky." He raised an eyebrow at the dark grey clouds visible outside the window. "And he can be charming, in his clumsy way…"

"Yes…" Arthur murmured in agreement, a small, soft smile making its way onto his face. Francis reached out and cupped the Englishman's chin, turning his head up and locking his eyes onto Arthur's.

"But I want you to stay away from him." He said, flatly. "I have never been possessive of you before, Arthur, and I will not be again… But Alfred is my nephew, and, as of the moment, my only heir. A union between our families is much desired, Arthur, but not like this. I want you to marry Mathilde… Or have nothing else to do with my family. I will not make you choose between my niece and me, but I will make you choose between me and Alfred." His expression hardened, slightly. "Alfred needs to continue the line, as I am unable to do. My father is already most displeased that the Bonnefoy name shall not continue, and it may be that one day I take a bride… After all, unlike you, I am not opposed to taking a woman as a lover. However, for now, Alfred is the continuation of the line, and so I do not want you to corrupt him." The slowly-building rage went out of Arthur at that, and his shoulders slumped, only Francis' hand on his face keeping him from burying his head in his hands.

"Of… Of course, Francis. I… I understand. Alfred would not have me anyway. I… I will marry Mathilde, and our families will be joined…" He sighed. "Very well. I will do what is necessary." He stood and then, hesitating only slightly, leant down and kissed the surprised Frenchman full on the mouth, almost tender in contrast with their usual passion. "But this is the end of whatever we had, Francis. If Mathilde is to be my wife, I will not dishonour her this way." He nodded, once, then left the room, leaving Francis to frown at the sky outside as he contemplated what had just occurred.

"Bruder." Luise, the stern German maid, folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at the albino poorly hidden in a bush beneath Lord Kirkland's study window.

"Was?" The albino in question tilted his head back to look up at her, smirking lazily. "Francis won't mind me listening in…"

"But Lord Kirkland would, Gilbert." She pointed out, unfolding her arms and placing her hands on her hips. "Come, bruder, you have chores to do, and I'm not picking up your slack again."

"Aber… Luise!" Gilbert whined as his sister reached down and grabbed ahold of his collar, lifting him to his feet and dragging him inside. "They were talking about Mathilde!" Luise stopped in her tracks, and turned to stare at her older brother.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, you are not to lay a finger on that poor girl." She hissed, glaring. "She is to be Lord Kirkland's bride!"

"I want her." Gilbert muttered, stubbornly. "I always get what I want." Luise looked at him for a long moment, then shook her head and turned away.

"Opa spoilt you, bruder… You can't always have what you want. And not this girl." She shot another scolding glare back at him. "She's too good for you."

"No-one is too good for me, Schwester." Gilbert smirked, slinging his hands in his pockets and starting to walk. "More like no-one is good enough, ja?"

"Your ego is going to get you into trouble." Luise cautioned him. "You will die alone, bruder, unless you settle down soon." Gilbert paused to consider this, running his fingers through his pale hair.

"Fine then." He glanced up, smirking again. "I'll settle down. With Mathilde." Luise stared at him, blue eyes wide with shock.

"Bruder! Don't be ridiculous! Even if she would take you…"

"Who wouldn't want me, Luise?" Gilbert winked. "I'm attractive, charming, intelligent…"

"Self-centred and vain." The tall woman countered. "Mathilde has shown little interest in you so far; even if she were to accept such a proposal, her family would never agree… Not to mention your inability to commit." She raised an eyebrow, sceptical. "You are incapable of settling down, bruder."

"I won't know unless I try." Gilbert jutted his chin, defiant. "And as for her family not accepting me… I'll claim Opa's inheritance." There was a sharp intake of breath from his sister.

"But… Bruder… Roderich…" She murmured, trying to articulate her protest. Gilbert frowned for a moment, his expression almost sorrowful.

"I… I will claim Opa's inheritance. I will take Mathilde as my bride. Hearts will be broken all over Europe, and Lord Kirkland will have to find another bride." He smirked, finally. "And Roderich and Elizaveta will have to pray for my mercy."

"Bruder, think this through. You seriously expect you'll be able to just waltz into the manor and tell Roderich that, after four years, you've changed your mind and you want everything?"

"It's all mine, Luise! Opa left it to me!"

"And you ran away rather than deal with the fact your fiancée left you for your penniless cousin! Put everything you own into their hands rather than deal with the fact Elizaveta didn't want you!" Luise snapped back, pale cheeks flushed with anger. "And like a fool, I followed you here!"

"Don't, Luise! If you hadn't followed me, schwester, you wouldn't have met Feliciano!" The blonde stilled, the flush in her cheeks now caused by embarrassment.

"Ja… You're right, Gilbert… Es tut mir leid." She murmured. "If you believe you can woo and wed Mathilde, then I will not stop you. But if I get the slightest hint that your intentions towards her are anything less than honourable, I will not hesitate to step in." She patted her braided hair, ensuring it was still neat, then nodded at her brother. "I will speak with you later." She turned and left, and Gilbert took a deep, albeit slightly shaky, breath.

"Now all I have to do is convince Mathilde to choose me over the respectable Lord Kirkland…" He smirked. "Easy as breathing."

**[A/N: Okay. So. I posted the previous version of this chapter… Then started writing chapter 21… And then I realised that even though I thought 20 could end very well where it did, it would also work if I added the Luise-Gilbert interaction to the end! So enjoy the new, improved, version of chapter 20!**

**Now excuse me whilst I go die in this corner 'cos my hayfever's so bad T_T]**


	21. Is there a point to naming these?

"Arthur!"

Lord Kirkland groaned silently, increasing his pace slightly as he strode through the corridors, still a few moments' walk from the safety of his study. The footsteps following him sped up too, and he tensed, knowing his pursuer's longer legs would soon enable him to catch up. Without turning, he called over his shoulder: "I'm very busy! I'll talk to you later!", before speeding up again and almost darting into his study, shutting and locking the door firmly behind him. Trembling slightly, he sat himself at his desk. Staring blankly at the heap of papers before him, he sunk into thought. He'd been avoiding both Alfred and Francis for a week, now, and it seemed that both of the other men had noticed. Francis seemed to have accepted it, merely nodding politely when they passed each other in the halls, but Alfred was more reluctant to accept the Englishman's silence. He'd begun tracking Arthur down, sitting next to him at meals, knocking on the door between their rooms in the evening as they prepared for bed, and, most recently, lying in wait for him in the corridors. Arthur cursed his father's lack of fore-thought in not putting a bathroom near the study; it was a five-minute walk through the winding corridors down to the nearest convenience, and though Arthur attempted to spend almost all his time in his study, 'working', he had to relieve himself sometimes, especially with the copious cups of tea he had been drinking to keep himself awake… And, less successfully, keep himself from giving in to his main vice, alcohol, knowing that it would be far harder to follow Francis' request in relation to Alfred if inebriated. But now he felt like he could do with a drink… Glancing once again at the thick door, reassuring himself that it was locked, he reached down into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey, twisting off the top and drinking straight from the bottle. He didn't stop until the level had dropped by another half; he then put the bottle down, laid his head flat on the desk and stared at the books lining the wall. Which began to move. Arthur blinked and lifted his head up as a section of the bookcase swung towards him. "Bloody hell." He muttered, lifting the bottle and staring at it, trying to work out how much he'd drunk. He shook his head, after a moment, and glanced back at the wall. It was back in its proper place, and he nodded, contented, and rested his head back on his desk.

It took him a moment to work out that what was under his head was no longer the cool, smooth wood that it had been a moment ago. He raised his head again, slightly, and turned it, staring down at the ten long, pink things that, a moment later, he worked out were fingers. He followed them up, confused, eyeing crisp white cuffs leading into equally neat sleeves, followed by broad shoulders and a tanned neck wrapped in its white collar. Then came, in usual order, a chin, full lips, a straight nose, the line of which was broken by a metal arch, and the confused blue eyes sat neatly behind the flash of glass. Arthur tilted his head to the side, slightly.

"Alfred." He muttered. "Y'not men'ta be in here… 'M tryin' t'stay'way fr'm you…" Alfred, leaning over the desk, raised an eyebrow.

"You're drunk." He pointed out, before pushing back off the desk and moving to crouch down next to Arthur's chair. "Why are you trying to avoid me?"

"Francis tol'me t'…" Arthur muttered, staring at Alfred; at his concerned blue eyes, at his unruly cowlick, at his lips… Arthur found himself leaning forward slightly, and he shook his head, dispelling his drunkenness as much as was possible.

"Why did Uncle Francis tell you to stay away from me…?" Alfred was asking, frowning, as Arthur backed away, turning his chair and rising out of it.

"You can't be here, Alfred." Arthur staggered over to the door, fumbling with the key. "How'd'ya get in, anyway?"

"I came through the secret passage… Arthur, why did Uncle Francis tell you to stay away from me?" Alfred repeated, walking over to the inebriated Englishman and catching his wrist, holding it away from the key. "Am I in trouble?" Arthur didn't answer; instead just staring up at the American, one hand held above his head, the other hanging limply by his side. "Arthur?" Alfred leant down slightly, the better to look Lord Kirkland in the eye. The smaller man just continued to stare, and Alfred flushed slightly.

"Yer so pretty…" Arthur murmured hoarsely, at last. "Yer pretty eyes an'yer pretty mouth an'yer stupid bloody pretty accent." He began to cry, then, flopping forward onto the surprised American, who caught him and patted his back awkwardly.

"I guess I do look kinda like Uncle Francis…" Alfred replied, slowly. "But I'm not him, Arthur, I'm Alfred… Did… Did you have a fight with Uncle Francis?" Arthur stared up at him out of tear-filled green eyes.

"Why're you so bloody stupid? Bloody wanker! Bloody stupid bloody 'merican bloody wanker with yer stupid bloody pretty mouth…" He sobbed, clinging to Alfred's shirt. "G-git! Get out'f here!" He shoved the other man backwards, but Alfred's hand, still clutching Arthur's wrist, made it difficult, and the surprised American fell, pulling an equally-surprised Englishman down on top of him. Alfred stared up in shock, for a moment, then smiled, amused.

"You think I have a pretty mouth?" He asked. Arthur flushed, the fall having brought him to his senses a little, and closed his mouth, shaking his head slightly. Alfred smiled tightly for a moment, then glanced away, thinking. Arthur realised the undignified position he was in and abruptly tried to sit up, but the taller blonde shot him an admonishing glance and wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him in place.

"Le'me go!" Arthur whined, squirming ineffectually in an attempt to get free. "Dun wan't'lie on you!"

"Arthur." Alfred said, suddenly, ignoring the Englishman's struggles. "I have something very important to tell you, okay?" Arthur stopped his wriggling and eyed the blonde teen warily.

"What?" He asked, before yelping as Alfred stood, easily lifting Lord Kirkland to his feet as he rose. The American kept his hands on Arthur's shoulders, tilting his head to the side slightly as if contemplating something. Then he leant down and kissed him gently; a chaste brush of lips. Green eyes went wide as Arthur tensed up completely. Alfred stepped back, blushing.

"I… Just wanted you to know." He muttered. "I-I'm sorry that you don't… That you don't… Ya know, care for me… The same way I care for you." He looked away, still flushing. There was a long, awkward silence. Then:

"Bloody stupid." Arthur growled. "Bloody stupid, bloody blind." He caught ahold of the American's shirt again, and Alfred flinched, waiting for the punch. Instead, Arthur kissed him soundly, pressing their mouths together firmly and remaining there for a long moment. "Now get out of my sight so I can drink myself stupid." He scowled, pushing the taller man away again.

"But-"

"We'll talk about this later. I have to talk to Francis first, and I need to be thoroughly pissed for that." The Englishman dismissed him, heading back over his desk and the quarter-full bottle of whiskey that was calling his name. Alfred, grinning broadly, nodded.

"Okay, old man, but you'd better not run out on me! I'll track ya down if ya do!" He laughed and twisted the key in the lock, throwing the door open and slamming it behind him as he left. Arthur felt a small smile work its way on to his face, and he chuckled softly, reaching out for the bottle. An unopened envelope on the desk caught his eye, and, frowning, he picked it up, noticing the New York postage stamp. Hands shaking slightly, he opened it, quickly scanning through the words stamped onto the paper.

His face went pale, and he reached out for the bottle, downing the remaining whiskey in one gulp.

"Fuck." He muttered.

**[A/N: Now see, I always put my Author's Notes at the bottom, so they don't distract you from the chapter, and you can just skip over them if you want to, but I'm thinking maybe I should start putting them at the top so I can warn you what's going to happen in the chapter… For example, this one would have a language warning for Iggy's foul mouth C:**

**Also, my pretties, the USUK /officially/ starts here. No more FrUK! (Okay, that's a lie, there may be a little more platonic and borderline-FrUK) Though of course, I'm not going to make it easy on them… ;) On anyone, actually. I'm a bitch like that C:**

**Next chapter… You will NOT find out what was in that letter ;) No doubt you have some very good guesses, though. **

**Finally, thanks for all the well-wishes about my hayfever! I got some stuff from the doctor, so I'm feeling a bit better, but all your comments were the best medicine! ^^]**


	22. Roses and ANGST

Mathilde leant her head back slightly, attempting to take in the entirety of the huge painting before her. A sixteenth century relic, it depicted a hunt scene; the large eyebrows on the lead rider showing it to be commissioned by the Kirkland family. She smiled, slightly, her long, pale blue skirts swishing around her ankles as she moved onto the next painting adorning the dark wood-panelled walls. This depicted an elegantly dressed girl, her dark hair pulled back in a neat chignon, her green eyes large in her small, pale face, and her hereditary thick brows pulled into an unbecoming scowl. Mathilde, fond of such things, began to contemplate what could cause the girl to be scowling so. However, her musings were interrupted by a harshly-accented voice that she knew all too well.

"My lady Mathilde!"

"Oh, for the love of- No, Mr. Beilschmidt. Leave me alone." Mathilde glared at the approaching albino before turning and striding down the halls, lifting her skirts slightly to allow for easier movement. She cast a mournful glance at the paintings passing in fast blurs, knowing she wouldn't be able to return to this secluded corridor now that Gilbert knew it was her current sanctuary. Unknowingly, much like her fiancé and his two suitors, Mathilde had taken to avoiding the Prussian as much as possible, and only interacting with him when a chaperone was present. Mathilde had found that Luise or Berta were the best chaperones on such occasions, as the two tall blonde women seemed to be the only people Gilbert had any respect for. But now she seemed to have no escape route, as the albino darted in front of her, holding out a just-bloomed rose with an easy smile.

"Für meine Liebe, mit meine liebe." He murmured. Mathilde raised an eyebrow.

"Meaning?" She asked, attempting to make her tone as cold as possible.

"For my love, with my love." Gilbert near-purred, a seductive smile in place. The heiress rolled her eyes and took the flower, pushing past him and continuing her quick pace down the corridor, acting nonchalant. She couldn't, however, hide the blush that had risen to her cheeks at the attractive Prussian's words, and she clutched the flower to her chest as she hurried back to the safety of her rooms, seating herself in front of her dressing table and pinning the flower into her blonde curls, hands shaking.

"What are you doing, Mathilde?" She asked herself, staring at her pale reflection. "You should not have accepted the flower… He… He will think…" She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself, and folded her palms neatly in her lap. The door behind her creaked open and she yelped, tensing up and staring with wide, terrified eyes at the heavy wood, trembling slightly in a combination of excitement and fear.

But it was her brother, not Gilbert, who entered, and she breathed a soft sigh, of both relief and disappointment, standing and stepping into his offered embrace.

"Oh, Alfred…" She murmured. "I… Have just had a most inappropriate encounter…"

"Me too, Mattie." Alfred replied, and the heiress glanced up in surprise, noticing her brother's pallor almost matched her own, though he was smiling dazedly. Taking his hands, she led him over to her bed and motioned him to sit, before darting back to close her door. She then returned and sat beside him, crossing her ankles and looking at him, patiently, waiting for him to explain. "I… Kissed Arthur…" He whispered finally, voice hoarse with excitement and shock. "I… I don't know why, I just… I saw him, and he'd been drinking… He was cursing me, but he…" Alfred flushed lightly. "He was saying I… Was pretty… And… He kissed me back, Mattie!" Mathilde's eyebrows shot up.

"I… Thought you said he was… Intimate with Uncle Francis?" She asked, blushing slightly. Alfred's eyes narrowed.

"Uncle Francis told him to stay away from me…" He muttered. "Do you… Think he knows?" Mathilde reached out and touched her brother's arm.

"Alfred… No matter what your feelings for Lord Kirkland… If he is Uncle Francis' lover, you should not stand in the way of that." She smiled, sadly. "Blood is thicker than water, Al, and to steal the loved one of your own family member… Why, that would be…" She trailed off, noticing the pained look on her brother's face. The young man nodded, sharply, his eyes closed.

"Yes. You're right, of course, Mathilde." He opened his eyes and smiled, weakly. "This… Infatuation will pass. Arthur- Lord Kirkland- seemed… Reluctant to be with Uncle Francis, but I wouldn't want to upset Uncle Francis by getting between them. If… He and Uncle Francis reconcile, I will not interfere. But… If they do not…" His blue eyes glinted with determination, his smile strengthening. But then his expression fell again. "What am I thinking, Mathilde? I… I can't do that to Father and Mama… I… Must marry, and provide an heir for the Jones family name." He shook his head. "Ah, Mathilde." He smiled at her, resigned. "We shall both be condemned to marriages we don't want, to produce an heir…"

"Alfred…" Mathilde whispered, as her brother stood. "We have shared everything since birth… Know… That I will happily share my husband with you, also." He looked at her, clearly tempted, but then shook his head, firmly.

"No. It would be betraying both you and Uncle Francis. I will begin my search for a suitable bride immediately." He smiled. "Women have always interested me; I did not even consider men in that light until…" He shook his head again. "And I have looked at no other but him." He nodded. "Perhaps a wife is just what I need to resolve this." He leant down and kissed her cheek, then left. Mathilde was once again left to stare after him sadly.

**[A/N: I know what you're all thinking. 'BEGGARS, WAI U SUCH A BETCH? D: '**

**Because I'm British, duh C:**

**I WARNED YOU THIS WASN'T GOING TO BE EASY FOR THEM C: ]**


	23. The Letter's Contents

"Your parents are coming." Arthur said brusquely at the dinner table the next evening. He tossed an envelope at Alfred, who caught it deftly, frowning in confusion as he opened it and scanned through the letter. "They will be here within the week, and expect preparations for the wedding to begin almost immediately. As it is a high society wedding, it will naturally be… Extravagant. Your mother," His expression softened slightly. "Your mother writes that she has already begun contacting the necessary suppliers, and believes she can arrange everything within weeks of her arrival." His next intake of breath was slightly shaky. "She proposes an August wedding." Alfred's head shot up, and he stared at Arthur. Mathilde raised a hand to cover her mouth.

"But it's already June!" Alfred protested, allowing his sister to take the letter from his unresisting hands and skimmed through it. Arthur held up a hand to silence him.

"That's not all, lad." He paused to take a sip from his glass. "Some… Relatives of mine will be visiting. They, too, will be here shortly. In fact, I expect them to arrive tomorrow." He looked over the rim of his glass, expression stern. "I expect you to be civil to them, naturally."

"Naturally." Alfred rolled his eyes. "How are they related to you?" He asked, blue eyes curious. He raised an eyebrow as he caught the lord staring at him. Arthur looked away, blushing slightly.

"That isn't important." He said, dismissively, then stood. "Please excuse me." He inclined his head, turning to leave.

"Arthur!" Alfred leapt to his feet, uncharacteristically leaving half his food untouched. "A word?" Arthur blushed again, a small smile passing across his face, before he caught himself.

"Of course, Alfred. My study?" The American nodded, and followed him out. Francis exchanged a glance with Mathilde.

"To see the great Lord Kirkland smiling is a rare thing, _ma chère nièce_." He murmured. "Perhaps you would know the reason your brother wishes to speak with your fiancé?" Mathilde blushed.

"How would I know, Uncle?" She replied, eyes fixed demurely on her lap. "Some male task, I suppose. Perhaps Alfred is threatening Lord Kirkland; 'If you hurt my sister, I'll…', _non_?" She smiled, weakly. Francis stood, moving over and crouching beside her chair. He looked up at her, scrutinising her closely.

"_Non_. You and I both know what this is about." He sighed. "Alfred… Feels the same?" Mathilde started, opening her mouth to deny it, but then sighed, shoulders slumping slightly.

"_Oui_. Alfred… Is most enamoured of Lord Kirkland." She looked at her uncle, concerned. The Frenchman's eyes were closed, his face a little pained. "_Oncle?_" She asked.

"I… Have loved Arthur since… We were both children." He whispered, opening his eyes and looking up at her. "We… Have been intimate for many years… And yet, within a few weeks, my nephew has stolen his heart." He laughed, bitterly. "And my niece is to marry him." He shook his head, and stood again, offering her his hand. Hesitantly, she took it, getting to her own feet.

"I'm… Sorry, Uncle…" She murmured, looking up at him from unsure eyes. Francis sighed.

"It is no matter. Mama has begun negotiations with her cousin for his daughter's hand." He shrugged, elegantly. "Within the year I will be married into the Belgian royal family. And my bride-to-be is a… Most lovely girl." He smiled, wryly. "She is also a cousin of the Kirklands on her mother's side, and has inherited the family's enchanting green eyes… Though thankfully, not their unsightly brows." Mathilde clasped her uncle's hands.

"Alfred said… He will cease pursuing Lord Kirkland if you are reconciled… But… If you both are to be wed… Then…?" She trailed off, unsure how to pose her question. Francis' expression hardened.

"If it was my choice, Cherie, I would reconcile with Arthur in a heartbeat. But he insists that he does not want to betray you… Apparently, initiating an affair with your brother counts less than one with your uncle." He raised an eyebrow, then leant down and kissed her cheek, whispering in her ear: "Gilbert is a good man, Cherie. Do not be so hasty in your rejection of him." He stepped back and blew her another kiss, turning on his heel and striding out of the room. Mathilde stared after him for a moment, shocked, then turned, glancing at Luise, who had begun to clear the table.

"Is nothing in this household simple?" She asked. Luise smiled and moved over, patting the younger woman's arm reassuringly.

"Nein." She replied, after a moment. "Even simple things become complicated, if you choose to make them that way. Or… You can choose to make them simple once more."

"How?" Mathilde whispered, lost. "I cannot find anything that is simple in the first place."

"Well…" Began Luise, before she was interrupted by a dark-haired blur colliding with her back.

"Luise, Luise! Ve~!" Feliciano clung to his wife, nuzzling her affectionately. The blonde blushed.

"F-feli! Get back to your chores! This is women's talk!" Feliciano giggled, resting his head on his wife's shoulder and looking at Mathilde out of knowing brown eyes.

"This is what is simple, my lady." He smiled, blissfully, nuzzling Luise again. "They call me simple, ve… So if even I can understand it, it must be simple, si?" Luise's blush deepened, and she struggled to free herself from her husband's arms.

"Feliciano Vargas! Get back to your chores at once, or the punishment will be most severe!" She scolded. The brunette pouted, leaning in for a kiss, reluctantly granted by the frowning German woman, before skipping back out of the room. Mathilde looked after him, confused.

"What did he mean, 'This is what is simple?'" She asked, glancing back at Luise. The older woman was still a deep red, and bustling about her chores as if the events had not happened. "What is simple?"

"Ich weiss nicht." Luise replied, calmly. "It seemed like he was referring to our marriage, but that is one of the most complex things I can think of." She raised an eyebrow. "People do indeed call him simple, that much is true, but he is the most complicated man I have ever met."

"But you love him." Mathilde pointed out, smiling a little. Luise's expression softened.

"Ja… Gott knows why." She snapped out of her trance and returned to her chores. "You should retire, my lady. I will send Felicja up with some hot water, for you to bathe. If you need assistance, please just call for me." She curtseyed, and lifted the final pile of crockery onto her tea-trolley, before taking her leave. Mathilde began walking up to her room, deep in thought. She had scarcely made it to the hallway before she found herself pinned against a wall. She yelped, staring wide-eyed up at the smirking albino who now held her arms against the wood panelling.

"Mr. Beilschmidt." She hissed, once she had regained her bearings. "Unhand me at once, you, you-!" Unable to think of a word that would both convey the full extent of her disgust and rage, whilst maintaining her ladylike demeanour, she resorted to merely glaring at him.

"Ruffian?" The Prussian suggested, smirking knowingly. "I just wanted to talk to you, liebe… Seeing as you've been avoiding me." He raised an eyebrow, and the heiress flushed.

"Gilbert…" She murmured. He let go of one of her arms, tilting her chin up so she met his unnaturally-coloured eyes.

"Liebe… You don't want to marry Lord Kirkland… Do you?" He asked.

"I have no desire to marry a philandering Prussian gardener, if that was your next question." She snapped, trying to turn her face away. Gilbert's grip tightened slightly, and he raised an eyebrow, still smirking, unruffled.

"And what of a charming Prussian aristocrat?" He murmured, leaning closer, as if to kiss her. Mathilde blushed deeply, eyes now fixed willingly on his face.

"Y-you're not an aristocrat." She whispered, a weak protest. Gilbert just smirked, tilting her face up slightly more, so their lips met in a chaste kiss. He stepped back, still smirking, as the heiress' eyes widened in realisation and, hands fisting in her skirts to lift them, she took off down the corridor, almost running, until she reached the safety of her room.

**[A/N: Hey look, some PruCan action too! Alright, now you know what was in the letter! Ahah~! Next chapter will be… **

**Hmm. I'm not sure yet. Probably the arrival of Arthur's family. Mebbe some PolLiet, we haven't seen them in a while!**

**Also, why did I get so many surprised comments on my Britishness? Was it not obvious from the correct spellings of 'honour' and 'favour/ed/ite'? C: But thank you for all the love declarations, too…**

**See you next week, my pets!]**


	24. Whiskey and ANGST

Meanwhile, Alfred's heart ached as he looked down at Lord Kirkland, leading the way to his study. He tried to compose a compelling argument in his head as they walked, slowly trailing further and further behind the Englishman as he frowned, focused on his words. Arthur paused in the doorway to his study, raising an eyebrow as he looked back at the American.

"Hurry up lad." He cajoled, holding the heavy door open. "Before Christmas, if you please." Alfred flushed slightly, lengthening his strides and ducking past the lord, hovering awkwardly in the middle of the room. Arthur closed the door and turned, raising an eyebrow. "What's got you so wound up, then?" He asked. Alfred stared at him for a moment, then covered the distance between them in two steps, leaning down and cradling the blushing Englishman's face in his hands, before kissing him clumsily. Arthur coloured; he hesitated for a moment before reaching up to ease his arms around Alfred's neck. Just as he did so, the American pulled away, turning and walking quickly over to the window, staring out. Arthur's expression showed a fleeting glimpse of hurt, before he schooled it into a scowl that suggested he hadn't wanted to be kissed, anyway.

"Arthur…" Alfred murmured, still staring out the window, before he steeled himself and turned, walking back over to the smaller man, reaching out to lay his hands on Arthur's shoulders.

"I hold great affection for you, Arthur." He said, not meeting the Englishman's eyes. "But you're to marry my sister next month… And my uncle is in love with you… Mathilde is fine with our… Relations, but Uncle Francis… Plainly isn't." He finally look up, his eyes hurt but determined as they met Arthur's. "I intend to find myself a bride. I would appreciate your cooperation and support." Lord Kirkland stared at him for a long moment, then stepped back, trembling lightly.

"Wh-what…?" He whispered. Alfred looked uncomfortable, glancing away.

"Please, Arthur… Don't make this more difficult. This isn't right… I won't…" He shook his head; turned back towards the window. "I want to touch you… But I know that I shouldn't. So… Please… Stop tempting me."

"N-no…" Arthur shook his head, stepping in close and grabbing Alfred's shirtfront. "No, damnit!" He glared up at the American, fingers tightening in the white cotton. "I refuse to accept this. I will not let you do this to me; I will not let you be a selfish prat whilst pretending it's all for your sister and that bloody frog!" Alfred's eyes widened briefly behind his glasses, and then he, too, was scowling.

"It is for them! It's not fair-"

"You're scared." Arthur hissed. "You're bloody scared, that's what it is. Don't you think I felt exactly the same, the first time your uncle seduced me?" He blushed, but kept his tight grip on Alfred's shirt, kept his eyes fixed determinedly on Alfred's. "I was terrified, to think that I felt that way about another man. But I couldn't ignore it, so I learnt to accept it. And you will too!" His eyes were a little wet as he stared up at the younger man, but he maintained his fierce glower. "If you're any kind of man; half the 'hero' that you claim to be, then you will learn!" He hissed, then pressed his face against Alfred's chest, his arms sliding round the American's waist. "I won't let you leave me, damnit!" Alfred stood there, shocked, for a moment, then eased the Englishman's arms from around him, shaking his head.

"I… I am scared." He admitted, looking away from Arthur's hurt eyes. "But that's not it. I have to marry, and produce an heir. And… I don't want to mistreat my future wife like this… So please… Arthur… Let me go." He glanced up, briefly, his expression pain-filled, and then turned, heading towards the door. He opened it with one sharp tug and then swung it shut behind him. Arthur shakily sat down in his desk chair. He thought of how he had denied Francis for the very same reason Alfred had just given – not wanting to betray his bride. But all thoughts of such nobility and honesty had vanished with Alfred's kiss… He sighed, dropping his head down onto folded arms, staring at the wall of books to his left.

"Just… When I thought I might have found…" He scowled, then. "No. It's not love. Not with him." Still scowling, he reached down and fumbled for the newly-replaced bottle of whiskey in his bottom drawer, drinking directly from the bottle. The movement of the door made him look up. "A-alfred…?" He whispered, hopefully.

"_Non, mon ami_." Francis smiled, sadly. "I have just seen Alfred running from this room as if the devil himself were after him…" The Frenchman took the seat in front of Arthur's desk. "He does not want to be with you?" He asked, raising one eyebrow. Arthur flushed.  
"Th-that's none of your bloody business." He spat, taking another gulp of his whiskey. Francis sighed, and moved around to Arthur's side of the desk, leaning down to wrap his arms around the smaller man. Arthur struggled for a moment, then relaxed limply into the embrace.

"Both you and my nephew are stubborn, Arthur. I expected such a fight to occur. Alfred will not bring shame to his family by being with you openly, and he is too honest a person to pretend to be something he is not." He stroked the trembling Englishman's back soothingly. "Perhaps in another time, another place, such a relationship could work… You both seem to care for each other deeply, after all…" His voice remained steady, only his eyes, fixed on a point on the far wall, betraying his pain at that statement. "But not here and now. It is time to move on, Arthur. Marry Mathilde. Alfred will marry some heiress or aristocrat's daughter, and she will bear him children. I, too, will settle down." He smiled weakly, pulling back enough that Arthur could see his attempt at reassurance. "Our children will play together, as we did when we were younger." The English lord looked back at him, doubtful and hurt.

"I don't want to marry, Francis." He murmured. "Especially not a girl as sweet as Mathilde."

"Then you will lose her to Gilbert, and your lands to your brother. Peter himself will wed the young Zwingli girl, and will continue the Kirkland name. He has little affection for you, and you will become the outcast of your family. You will, of course, always be welcome at _Château Bonnefoy_, but I know you would despise living with 'a bunch of frogs'." He smiled wryly. "Make your decision, Arthur. Your pride, or your life. You will not last long living on others' goodwill, after all." He touched the Englishman's face, almost tenderly. "_Je t'aime, _Arthur. You know this, but you have never accepted it." Arthur looked away, scowling, but blushing deeply. "I will always hold great affection for you, Arthur, but it is time for both of us to move on. I encourage you to marry my niece. The benefits outweigh the damage done to your pride, I assure you." Arthur sighed and dropped his head back onto his arms, fixing his eyes once more on the bookshelves.

"I… Will consider it." He murmured. Francis smiled sadly, and took the bottle from him, taking a mouthful of his own as he settled back in the free chair.

"Then let us drink to the end of our bachelorhood." He murmured, raising the bottle. Arthur looked at him again, then simply nodded.

"It was… Good whilst it lasted." He muttered back, blushing, as he received the bottle and took another gulp.

"_Oui_." Francis replied, preparing himself to help his friend make a significant dent in the whiskey.

**[A/N: Hm. Well.**

**This. Appears to be over a week late. And for that I apologize. I had a very busy Sunday, because I had to visit my gran and she lives a loooooong way away… And then I got ill for four days, and then I got caught up in the end of term, and before I knew it, it was Sunday again and I hadn't updated!**

**So as an apology, I will be offering the requests I promised last time. I owe about eight, but I'm gonna be mean and claim back on the days I was ill, so I'll be offering four. That's four requests up for grabs.**

**Now I realise that sounds like a desperate cry for attention. Hey, if you send me an idea, I'll try and write it. **

**Better?**

**I really am sorry for the late update. And the angst in this chapter.**

… **Actually, I'm not sorry for the angst. At all. I like angst C:**

**Finally, this is a glimpse of what Artie and Franny's relationship will be like from hereon out… Mostly friendly, with just a little sexual tension, mainly on Franny's side. I hope that's acceptable to everyone!**

**Beggars out, until next time!]**


	25. Visitors!

The next morning saw all the occupants of the house, from Lord Kirkland himself down to Feliciano's visiting younger brother, an excitable thirteen-year-old whom Peter had taken an instant liking to, in the entrance hall, awaiting the arrival of Lord Kirkland's relatives. Arthur, Francis and Mathilde stood together, conversing politely, Mathilde trying valiantly to ignore the matching expressions of discomfort on the two men's faces. Luise blushed as Feliciano threw his arms around her, nuzzling into her as he babbled away excitedly to Gilbert and a bemused Tino; Berta looming behind her husband like a bodyguard. Gilbert himself was oblivious to his brother-in-law's words, staring silently at Mathilde, thankfully oblivious to the lustful and yet somewhat longing red eyes following her. Alfred, meanwhile, was also oblivious to the gaze fixed on his sister; he stood with the two younger boys, the three chattering eagerly between themselves about how they intended to take the boat out later, as soon as they could be escape the formalities of meeting the newest guests. Toris, fidgeting slightly, gazed around in forced interest at the dark wood-panelled walls, the large oil paintings adorning them, the broad, curving stairway, the banisters of which he was leaning on – anything but the slender blonde, eyes shut as she leant sleepily on his shoulder, mumbling under her breath in soft Polish, their hands intertwined. The sound of a motorcar approaching the manor made everyone look up; some relieved, some irritated, at the interruption. Tino stepped forwards to open the door; the other servants lined up politely to one side, Lord Kirkland, his brother, the twins and Uncle Francis standing at the bottom of the stairway to await their guests.

"What relation are these Braginskis to Arthur again?" Alfred asked Mathilde in whispered French. His sister shrugged elegantly.

"I have given up on attempting to follow the twisted family trees of the European aristocracy." She murmured in response. "Some form of cousin, I suppose."

"Hush, you two." Francis scolded his niece and nephew, raising one eyebrow. "Arthur does speak French, even if he pretends not to."

"No I bloody don't." Arthur mumbled, in English, and Francis smirked.

"Of course not, _mon ami_." He rolled his eyes at the twins, then pressed a long finger to his lips to shush them as the visitors entered. A young man entered first, the pleasant smile on his face at odds with his large frame. Following him came his two sisters; the younger and more slender girl holding tight to the elder's arm as she looked around, scowling, at the room. All three siblings had pale blonde hair; the two sisters' almost white, and all three wore heavy, if elegant, winter clothing.

"Alexandr, Natalia, Ivana." Arthur smiled tightly as he stepped forward, clasping Alexandr's hand before kissing both sisters' cheeks. The younger sister, Natalia, scowled deeper as she eyed the Lord disdainfully, but both her siblings smiled sweetly. "It's a pleasure to see you again." He assured them. "Please, come through to the drawing room." He nodded to Luise to fetch refreshments, and led the way, making polite small talk with Alexandr. Mathilde smiled shyly at Natalia, but the older girl just glared at her, and, trembling slightly, she ducked behind Alfred. The American frowned at the youngest Braginski sibling.

"Such an expression is unbecoming on such a lovely young lady." Francis, seeing his nephew about to leap to Mathilde's defence, stepped in. Smiling pleasantly, he stepped forward and offered the girl his arm. "Please, _Mademoiselle_, allow me to escort you to the drawing room?" Reluctantly, the girl took his arm, glancing back at her sister, who smiled reassuringly as the Frenchman led her away. Alfred, looking at the middle sibling almost curiously, offered her his arm with a small but charming grin.

"Miss… Ivana, was it?" He asked as the girl smiled at him, bemused, and took the offered arm. "I'm Alfred F. Jones; Arthur's future brother-in-law…" He led the tall girl off in the same direction her siblings and the two older men had gone, and Mathilde raised an eyebrow. Someone stepped up beside her, and she remarked.

"I do believe my brother is attempting to court her."

"Will he succeed?" The person asked, almost interested. Mathilde turned and glanced up at him, a small blush easing its way across her cheeks.

"The Jones family are about as good at wooing as we are at being wooed." She raised her eyebrow again at the softly-smirking Prussian looking down at her.

"Well it's a good thing Beilschmidts are known for being good at courting the hard-to-please ladies then." He murmured in reply. Mathilde rolled her eyes.

"Reminding me of your past conquests is hardly the most romantic statement, Mr. Beilschmidt." She warned him, then glanced around. All the other servants had disappeared; Peter, too, had run off somewhere, presumably to play with Feliciano's brother. She sighed. "Your arm, Mr. Beilschmidt. As my brother, fiancé and Uncle have all already adjourned to the drawing room, I find myself without an escort." The Prussian smirked again.

"Must you go to them, liebling?" He asked. "Come, walk in the orchard with me, instead." Mathilde blushed.

"That would be… Inappropriate, Gilbert." She replied in a murmur. "Without a chaperone… Even if you are my fiancé's servant…"

"Mathilde." Gilbert took both her hands in his own, and looked down at her, expression serious. "You may ask Luise to verify this if you please, but for now, listen to me." He glanced away briefly, summoning his courage. "I am the heir to the Beilschmidt fortune; my grandfather, Opa Fritz, passed away several years ago, leaving me with all his inheritance. However, my fiancé, a Hungarian woman named Elizaveta… Left me… For my cousin, Roderich, though he had been left out of my Opa's will." He looked up at her again, gauging her reaction; Mathilde kept her expression carefully neutral. "I… Was naturally upset. After all, how could she choose someone like him over someone as fantastic as me?" He smirked briefly, but it looked forced. "Nonetheless, she chose him and I… In a childish rage… Ran away. Luise followed me – she always took care of me, despite being the younger sibling – and we somehow ended up here, with the son of my Opa's friend. Arthur offered to let us stay with him, as equals, but we refused. We had abandoned our inheritance, and so it was our duty to work for ourselves. He instead offered us generously paid positions, which we accepted, natürlich." He shrugged. "Last year, Feliciano began working here, and he and Luise were married just six months ago." He smiled almost fondly, then shook his head. "Mathilde… The reason I explain this to you is because I wish for you to return to Prussia with me… As my bride." He looked at her, completely serious, his pale cheeks tinted pink as he waited for her answer. Mathilde shook her head slowly, staring at him wide eyed.

"W-what…? Th-that is- Y-you can't…" She took a step backwards, then another, and another, before turning and hurrying away; for the second time in as many days running from the albino to hide in the relative safety of her room; as before, Gilbert remained where he stood, staring after her, almost sadly.

**[A/N: I'm not… Amazingly keen on this chapter. Something feels off about it. Also, it's 2am and I haven't slept since Friday, so if there are any spelling or grammar errors, please feel free to point them out and I'll fix them when I've had a nap.**

**There are still three one-shots up for grabs if anyone wants them –shrugs–**

… **I'm going to sleep now –collapses–**

**Enjoy]**


	26. Wilted Rose

"Brother, Gilbert has asked me to marry him."

…

"Alfred! Gilbert wishes me to go with him, back to Prussia!"

…

"As his bride."

…

"Gilbert has asked for my hand."

…

"Alfred…" Mathilde trailed off, with a sigh, staring at her reflection. It looked back at her, pale and wan with confusion and doubt. She had no idea how to break the news to her brother – barely any of how to break it to herself. Gilbert… Wanted her; for more than what she'd originally assumed. He… Wanted to marry her. That thought brought a blush to her cheeks and a girlish giggle to her lips. He… He had honourable intentions after all! She smiled shyly at her reflection, then stood, sliding out of her heavy dress and easing herself down on her bed in just her petticoats.

"Alfred, Gilbert and I wish to marry." She attempted, a bubble of excitement inflating in her chest as she leant down to slip off her shoes and hose.

"Gilbert and I are to be wed, Alfred!" She stood and spun, smiling, bare feet dancing on the thick carpeting, skirt rising to swirl with her movements. "We are to be married!" She took hold of a fistful of the lace petticoat and lifted it, sinking into a low curtsey as if accepting a dance from an invisible partner, before continuing her twirling. "I-I shall be his bride!" She spun right up to the edge of her mattress, spreading her arms wide as she fell gracefully back onto the soft furnishing, laughing breathlessly as she bounced slightly. "Mrs Mathilde Beilschmidt… I- I am to be… To be his wife!" She grabbed her teddy and kissed its nose adoringly. "Mrs Mathilde Beilschmidt…" She repeated, her voice soft with wonder, her cheeks pink.

"And what about Arthur?" She started into a seated position, hugging her bear close to hide her modesty.

"A-Alfred!" She blushed deeply as she looked at her brother, her smile quickly fading.

"What about Arthur, Mathilde?" He repeated, arms folded, expression disapproving.

"W-well… This means that you and Arthur can-"

"I have asked Ivana for her hand." Alfred replied flatly, cutting his sister off. She stared at him, wide-eyed in shock.

"But Alfred-"

"I know we've only just met, but Ivana's father is a cousin to the Tsar, and her family has a high standing both socially and politically." Alfred continued in the same emotionless tone, sounding almost like he was reciting. "Ivana has no wish to spend the rest of her life in Russia and would prefer to live in a warmer climate. America seems like an excellent choice to her. We find ourselves to be mutually compatible and share several of the same interests. With her father's agreement, we shall be married in the spring of next year." His eyes, which had been fixed on the ornately decorated ceiling as he spoke, finally flickered back down to meet her own. Mathilde shook her head slowly, frowning.

"I… Don't understand. I thought that… You and Arthur…"

"I… I have to continue the Jones name, Mathilde." Alfred mumbled, fiddling with his glasses. "Father will never forgive me if I… If I don't."

"Father would understand-"

"Father would never understand, and you know it!" Alfred scowled, stomping over to the window and staring out. "I will marry Ivana next spring and she will return with me to America to live with Mama and Father." He nodded, determined, and turned, heading back out of the room.

"Alfred… What happened to the brave and noble hero, who would always fight for what he wanted, what he believed in?" Mathilde whispered, one last attempt to change her brother's mind. He paused in the doorway, but didn't look back.

"What I want…? … I want to be normal, Mathilde…" He muttered, before continuing out the door, closing it behind him. His despondent tone broke her heart.

"Oh Alfred…" She sighed, hugging her teddy to her again. She stroked its soft ears lightly, her eyes drawn to the rose, sat in a glass on her nightstand, and her eyes filled with tears. She reached out, carefully lifting the wilting flower; despite her care, a few wrinkled petals came loose and drifted to the floor. She stood, wiping away her tears, and tucked her stuffed bear under one arm, the rose held in her other hand as she strode determinedly out the door. Her dress lay forgotten on the carpet, the crumpled material dotted with small, blood red petals.

**[A/N: I'm on a rooooooll, bitches!**

**Another chapter's coming shortly. After that… We'll see if I can get back into my updating pattern. Those waiting on requests, I'm working on those now too.**

**Love you all…]**


	27. Best Laid Plans

"Gilbert." Mathilde called the moment she saw the Prussian at the end of the corridor. He turned almost eagerly at the sound of her voice, but, upon catching sight of her, almost immediately turned away again.

"M-My lady Mathilde!" He stuttered, cheeks pink. "W-where is your dress?" Mathilde looked down, eyes going wide as she realised she was wearing nothing but her flimsy petticoats.

"O-oh!" She exclaimed, blushing deeply and bringing her teddy back in front of herself. Gilbert quickly stripped out of his long, heavy coat and held it out to her; embarrassed beyond belief, the young heiress took it and pulled it on. The sleeves hung far past her small hands; the coat itself skimming her calves. She folded it tightly around herself, covering her modesty.

"Y-you should return to your room, my lady." Gilbert muttered, glancing back at her. He relaxed slightly when he saw she was covered; despite himself he found his eyes wandering over her slender form, smiling at the sight of her, near-drowned in his too-big work coat. She peered up at him, face still flushed, expression almost pouty. "I will send for _Schwester_ to assist you in getting dressed again." He mumbled, flushing himself as he realised he'd been caught staring.

"No." The short answer startled him, and he glanced back, red eyes meeting determined lilac ones. "Gilbert… I…" She looked away, biting her lip; those determined eyes slowly tearing up. "I am… Very fond of you…"She murmured, stepping closer to him. He looked at her, hope flashing through his strange-coloured eyes, but it was soon replaced by a frown.

"But?" He asked, tired and morose. "You still intend to marry Lord Kirkland, despite his tastes?"

"I can't allow him to be stripped of his inheritance simply due to my own selfishness." She mumbled in response, the tears by now sliding down her cheeks. She offered Gilbert the wilting rose; trying to hold back her sobs.

"… Nein." Gilbert refused it. "I love you." He confessed, staring at her earnestly. "I have had women… Many women, it is true. But I haven't been in love, not like this. Even with Elizabeta, it wasn't like this." There was a quiver, a break, in his voice, and he reached out, grabbing Mathilde and pulling her into a tight embrace. "Nein, Mathilde. I will not let you leave me." He muttered, determined. He slid one arm around her waist, keeping her pinned in place against him, and moved the other up to cradle the back of her head, tilting it up for a kiss, far less chaste than the previous one. Mathilde whimpered slightly, her own hands moving to press against his chest; Gilbert refused to release her, slowly moving her back to press against the wall, still kissing her deeply.

"G-Gilbert!" She managed to gasp out after a moment, turning her head. "G-Gilbert, this is inappropriate!"

"I don't care." He growled, the hand behind her head moving; he slid it down her neck, across her shoulder, bared as his coat slipped off her, and down her arm, skimming along the lace and linen of her petticoat, before he took her left hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it lightly, before retrieving a box from his pocket. He fumbled with it lightly, removing the contents, and finally held up an ornate golden ring, the diamonds and rubies flashing in the light. "Marry me, Mathilde. Please… Bitte…" His eyes were pleading, almost desperate, showing the depth of his emotion more clearly than any expression, and Mathilde flushed beneath their adoring gaze.

"I…" She hesitated; half raised a hand to touch his pale cheek. She stared at him, taking in the flush of emotion, the pleading gaze, the pale, pale hair and skin, and the strangely coloured eyes. "Yes." She whispered, but then her face fell. "But how can we…?"

"I will speak with your father the moment he arrives. The Beilschmidt fortune is larger even than that of the Kirklands, there is no doubt that you will be cared for…"

"Father has more than enough money." Mathilde leant forward, resting her head on Gilbert's shoulder. "It is not for money that I am to wed Lord Kirkland… It is his father's will that demands a union between our families…" Something flashed through her eyes as she turned her head back up to lock eyes with Gilbert; some kind of hard determination. "Come with me." Frowning in confusion, Gilbert obediently moved back, letting her away from the wall; she took his hand and smiled shyly, leading him back in the direction of her room.

"My lady-" Gilbert began, frown deepening, his cheeks tinged with pink as he recognised the path they were taking through the warren of corridors.

"Mathilde will suffice now, Gilbert." She smiled up at him, flushing slightly. "My fiancé should not have to use a title to refer to me." Gilbert couldn't help but grin at her words; excitedly, he leant down to kiss her again. They both paused as she leant up, wrapping her arms around his neck in order to kiss him back. When they broke apart, she slid her hand back down, interlacing their fingers and continuing to lead them back to her room, Gilbert's protests and questions forgotten.

**[A/N: I told you there was another chapter coming C:**

**Let's see if I can get at least one more out this weekend, neh?]**


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